


Peasant to Prince (in one way or another)

by NotARealWriter



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anxiety Attacks, Family Feels, Friendship, Magic, Multi, Of Crowns and Thorns AU, Rated T for swearing, Virgil's POV, based on an animatic, its not very shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotARealWriter/pseuds/NotARealWriter
Summary: “I…” He trailed off. “I want to be a prince.”“Well, you can't-”“IknowI can't but… I can still dream. It's all I’ve ever wanted for my whole life.”---Set in medieval(ish) times, we see the lives of two peasant boys: a tailor-in-training and a dreamer.Despite their vastly different outlooks on life, they manage to balance each other out through thick and thin.---OR: A look at Virgil and Roman's friendship in ye-olde-time and how it developed. The story of which may include life-long dreams, fallouts, and love of more kinds than one.(AU and story setting are not mine, that lovely creation goes to the-pastel-peach on tumblr)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on "[Ready As I'll Ever Be]- Sanders Sides Animatic" by thepastelpeach on YouTube. (@the-pastel-peach on tumblr)
> 
> PLEASE WATCH THE VIDEO ITS REALLY GOOD LIKE HOLY HELL
> 
> From the description of the video:  
> "... and virgil, a close 'friend' of romans' since childhood..."  
> and from there, the self-indulgent writing began.
> 
> Edit: Hey, just a quick thing: there's some not-sanders-sides characters in this, so if you're only in it for the main 5, sorry in advance.

He cocked his head, inspecting the strange newcomer to his village.

Scratch that- maybe he'd been there all his life, but the stranger's choice of clothing certainly made his presence more evident than ever.

Virgil’s mother tugged on his sleeve, urging him to keep up. He kept his eyes trained on the strange boy.

He wore light coloured clothing, which was barely visible under the sashes of cloth wrapped every which way over his small figure. A thick wooden stick, looking similar to a stool’s leg, was tied to one of the sashes. However it was his head that made him so noticable; a crown made from parchment and decorated with various leaves and twigs laid atop his mop of hair.

The boy didn't seem to notice Virgil's staring, despite him making no effort at being discreet.

Soon, Virgil lost sight of the boy, so he busied himself by helping his mother choose fabric for her latest project. 

\---

Virgil grit his teeth and bit the inside of his cheek once he heard their voices.

“Hey, Jill!” one of the boys shouted.

“What’re you doing out here? Not modelling another of your mother's gowns?” That comment erupted laughter from the group.

He gave them no reaction, steadily cranking the handle of the water pump, silently willing the bucket to fill with water faster.

“C’mon, Virgil, we're just poking fun,” the first boy, Jason, cradled his hands against his own cheek, “How about a ‘sorry’ kiss?” He puckered his lips.

The boys burst into laughter again at their friend’s theatrics.

Virgil stopped pumping the handle and hefted the nearly full bucket off of the ground, keeping his head down as he did so.

He barely walked two steps before one of the taller boys pushed his shoulder harshly, spilling water over Virgil's trousers.

He almost regained his balance before he was tripped by another boy, falling on his side as he turned right before he hit the ground. The rest of the water had splashed onto his body, soaking him.

_Just let them do it. There’s no point in fighting back._

Grabbing the handle of the bucket, he slowly got to his feet and walked to the water pump again.

“Hey!”

It took him a second to register that the voice was not one he recognised; it was a higher pitch than the boys who harassed him. Virgil turned around, still dripping wet, to see who had intervened.

“Leave him alone!”

The stranger wore a length of cloth over his body, seemingly for no reason, but it was the wooden stick he held in his hand that tugged at his memory.

“I said leave him alone!”

The group faced their leader who shrugged carelessly and the boys slowly dispersed, more out of losing interest in bullying Virgil than listening to the stranger. Right as they turned a corner, Jason jeered.

“Good job on saving that damsel in distress, princey!”

Virgil’s face grew red, his mouth forming a sneer. He slammed his bucket next to the water pump and began furiously cranking the handle.

_Breathe. Don't fight. Breathe. BREATHE._

He felt a gentle touch over his hands.

“Your bucket's overflowing,” his so-called ‘prince’ noted.

He looked to his feet and noticed water sloshing over the edge onto his boots. “Oh. Darn.”

Virgil had half a mind to leave then and there, heading straight to bed once he got home. He almost gave into the idea but was snapped out of his thoughts when the boy held out his hand.

“I'm Roman. What’s your name?” he asked with a wide smile.

He looked at the bo- Roman’s hand, and replied curtly. “Virgil.”

Roman had opened his mouth to say something but Virgil cut him off.

“Look, kid, thanks for that but I really need to get going.”

“You can't call me ‘kid’, you're a kid too!”

“I'm seven,” Virgil stated. Judging by the kid's behaviour and figure, he'd guessed that maybe he was six at most.

Roman beamed. “Well, I'm eight!”

The soaked boy knitted his brows, _He’s short for an eight year old._

Virgil would have been considered tall for his age, had he not slouched so much. His mother still scolded him repeatedly to stop his habit, his father having given up on lecturing him about it.

“Right, well, I’m going to-”

“Wait! Can we be friends?” He smiled brightly.

_Too bright, if you ask me. Does he paint his teeth white?_

Virgil stared at the boy, like he did many months prior before shrugging and walking in the direction of his house. He half expected the dressed-up boy to follow him but when he turned around, Roman remained where he left him, somehow smiling wider than before.

He turned away and shook his head slightly.

_What a weird kid._

\---

He heard shouting. Virgil followed the sounds until he reached a building where he carefully leaned out from the corner to see Roman circled by Jason and his goons.

“Give it back!”

“What is this? A chair leg?” Virgil craned his neck to see what the goon was talking about. He saw something being thrown over to Jason.

“It’s my sword!”

Jason rolled it over in his hands. “One lousy piece of wood, more like.”

_Help him._

“It's mine! Give it back!” Roman jumped to try and grab his st- uh, _sword_ , as Jason held it just above his reach.

_I can't._

Jason scoffed and threw the sword to the biggest guy in their group. He caught it easily and snapped it over his knee before Roman could face him. Two splintered pieces of wood fell to the ground.

“Oops.”

_Coward._

Roman fell to his knees, eyes wide and staring at the wood. The boys laughed and began walking away; Jason ruffled up Roman’s already messed up curls.

“Sorry, little guy. Guess we had too much fun,” he sauntered over to his group who all cheered him for his antics.

Once they were out of sight, Virgil quietly walked up to the boy and kneeled in front of him. Upon closer inspection, he realised that his sash of dull blue fabric was ripped at his waist, probably Jason's doing.

_Did they rip it off of him? Did they follow him? Is this because he helped me? That was almost two weeks ago…_ _Would they care that much? Maybe…_

He allowed his thoughts to rattle off in the back of his mind, instead placing a hand on Roman’s shoulder. _First things first._

“Hey. Roman. Buddy,” he gently shook the small boy.

“They broke my sword. They-,” he broke off himself, his voice a higher pitch than usual. Tears brimmed his eyes.

Virgil returned to his feet and picked up the snapped pieces of wood. “Alright, come on, up you get.” He held out his hand, which Roman took hesitantly, then hoisted him up to his feet.

“Do you mind giving me your sash? I want to wrap the wood,” he asked, voice gentle and open to rejection. Virgil wasn't sure if the boy could even hear him from his shocked state.

Thankfully, Roman untied what was left of his sash and handed it over to the taller boy. He quickly bundled up the wood in the cloth, easily imitating what his mother had taught him to do with fabric scraps.

“Follow me.”

Virgil made sure to check every corner they turned on the way to his house, making sure to avoid crossing paths with Jason. The other boy remained quiet but followed closely.

Not wanting his mother to see his… friend so close to tears, he entered through his father’s workshop located at the rear of their house. His father was travelling at the time and his mother rarely entered the workshop, so he was sure that there wouldn't be any unexpected visitors.

Virgil laid the wood on the work table and began to unwrap it.

“I'm not sure about your… sword, but I can try and fix up your sash. I'm not the best at sewing because- oh, you can sit anywhere,” he interrupted himself when he noticed Roman awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

He pointed at a wooden crate and cocked his head slightly.

“Uh, sure, wherever, doesn't really matter,” Virgil ran the ripped fabric between his hands, frowning slightly at the damage, “Anyway, I've yet to get my stitching perfect, but I think it'll do the job for now. Mother will be glad for the practice at the very least.”

Roman finally spoke but it was barely above a whisper. “You don't have to do this.”

He dismissed the comment, searching around for an emergency sewing kit. “I want to repay the favour.”

“But why-”

“Why do you dress like that?” The question may have been rude but it was better than having to explain his actions.

“I…” He trailed off.

Virgil found the kit and, fortunately, the needle had already been threaded beforehand. He got to work, still continuing the conversation.

“You?”

“I want to be a prince.”

The needle pricked Virgil's finger only slightly as he jerked in surprise.

“Well, you can't-”

“I _know_ I can't but… I can still dream. It's all I’ve ever wanted for my whole life.”

_Which is admittedly short so far._

Roman continued. “And I pestered my parents so much, until they helped me make my clothing. I wore long pieces of cloth that were left from my mother's old dresses. But now I just wear the one sash. A while ago, I even wore a little crown made that my nan helped me make.” He had a small smile on his face as he reminisced.

Virgil held back a comment, _Yeah, I know, I saw you wearing it over a year ago._ He cringed at the uneven spacing between stitches in his handiwork so far.

The older boy's face fell suddenly. “But my sw- my… Yes, my sword. It’s just a piece of wood that my father cleaned up, but it means- meant so much to me.

“It was _the_ piece that made me live my dream. The crown made me look like a prince but it was fragile; couldn't wear it much anywhere. My sword? It made me _feel_ like a prince. Like I could lead an army, lead a kingdom with strength and pride.”

Looking up from his messy sewing work, Virgil allowed a small smile on his face from hearing just how passionate Roman was. _So it's not just for the riches…_

He returned his focus to finish off mending the sash.

“I’ll see what I can do about the sword. I don't think that I can mend what you had, but maybe we can make a new one? My father is close with the carpenter so perhaps… Aaand voila!” Virgil held up the crudely repaired sash. “I know it's a bit wonky but I was thinking that I could use some of our- OOF!”

Roman hugged him tightly while he was frozen, unsure of what to do. The sash was between their bodies and Virgil worried that if he pulled on it, the stitches would come undone.

“Thank you.”

“It's really no problem-”

Roman abruptly pulled away, holding the taller boy by the shoulders. “But it _is_. I've never had a friend before. We’ve met once before today, yet here you are, mending my sash! Let me thank you for your kindness.”

_‘Never had a friend before’?_

_Well, he certainly has the_ speech _of royalty._

_We've met before…_

Out of all the thoughts that passed his mind, the one he accidentally spoke aloud just _had_ to be-

“We’ve met before?” Roman asked. “I'm quite sure I'd have remembered _you_.”

“I- well, ‘met’ is a strong word. I watched- I mean, I sta- I _saw_ you at the market in your full… prince-wear a little over a year ago. At the market.” He avoided the intense gaze being directed at him by busying himself with folding the sash in his hands.

“Oh, well, that doesn't count, surely? My point is: you are a lovely friend, Verge.”

“Verge?” he asked mockingly, a smile playing on his mouth.

“Too soon for nicknames? I just thought that Virgil is a tad long and-”

“Nah,” he waved off his concerns, “Verge is fine… Princey.” He ended with a smirk, throwing the bundled sash to Roman.

He caught it with ease, holding against his chest in mock offense. “ _Princey_? That's _Your Princey-ness_ to you.”

The two burst into loud laughter which caught the attention of Virgil’s mother. The conversation that followed was an interesting one at the very least.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh sorry, italics didn't work the first time round, so I'm posting it again.

“Sweetie, wake up!” his mother sang.

Virgil groaned into his arm, pulling the blanket over his head. Only to have it whipped out from his grasp a moment later.

“Hey!”

“Morning, sunshine.”

Virgil sat up, glaring at his friend and rubbing at his eyes. “ _How_ are you not exhausted? We were in the forest _all day_ yesterday, it's not fair that I should feel the pain and you don't when _I_ didn't even want to go.”

His ‘friend’ only hummed as he folded up the blanket.

“It's because he’s like the _Sun_ , dear, a day won't start ‘till he rises,” his mother chided from the next room.

He scoffed, brushing off his self-made tunic. “Mother, you've yet to see _him_ refuse to get out of bed. He's worse than I am!”

Roman set down the folded blanket.

_And here come the theatrics._

“Well, that just hurts, Verge. Right here,” he held his hand over his heart, “Your words pain me so, Virgil, they really do.”

“What can I say, Princey? The truth hurts.”

Virgil made his way to the table in their living area, hearing a faint gasp from Roman followed by soft chuckles. He couldn't help but smile too.

“It's not _my_ fault for wanting to celebrate seven wonderful years of our friendship!” Roman protested, voice getting louder as he followed Virgil to the table.

“He's right, it's always lovely to celebrate milestones,” his mother said as she placed two bowls on the table, “Though, I do have to say Roman, you know how Virgil is with sleep as is.”

Virgil’s focus trained on the two bowls at the table. He opened his mouth to speak.

Roman raised his hand. “I’ve already taken my breakfast, so you needn’t worry about the bowls.

“And, I do so apologise for not taking Virgil's sleeping habits into account. I shan’t do it again, if I can restrain myself.”

Virgil spooned porridge into his mouth; seven years was more than enough time to get used to Roman’s way of speech, with his words like ‘needn’t’ and ‘shan’t’.His mother however, had never gotten over it - to be fair, he only used it sparingly - instead flushing and batting her hand at his flowery words.

“Ooh, sweet boy, I’m only being an old mother hen as usual,” she pinched Roman’s cheek delightedly, causing Virgil to very nearly snort porridge through his nose.

\---

Virgil's mother sent the two boys on a trip to the market to stock up on threads, chalk, a few bundles of fabric and the like.

As the two strode along side each other, Virgil straightened his back, gaining a few centimeters above his friend. Roman had grown quickly in the past couple of years, and it was the only motivation Virgil had to stop slouching as he refused to be shorter than his friend.

He stole a look at his friend for a quick height comparison. He noticed that Roman was wearing the tunic Virgil’s mother made him not too long ago.

Roman had abandoned his dramatic dress a few years ago, the only remaining piece being the badly mended blue sash that he wrapped around his waist, despite Virgil's insistence on replacing it with an undamaged one.

He also stopped bringing around his wooden sword- the one they had crafted together with help from Roman’s father- reasoning that “it was too troublesome hefting it around”.

At first, Virgil was concerned that Roman had given into the harassment from Jason. Roman had later confessed that he had outgrown most of his outfit and didn't want to bother with resizing it.

They agreed that they'd buy the cloth last, as it would be quite heavy to carry around the market. Roman decided to wait by the village square with their other goods while Virgil browsed the fabric, saying that “he took too long choosing them”. Virgil only allowed a mildly offended scoff to escape at the comment.

As he neared the fabrics stall, the old woman running it smiled upon seeing the tailor-in-training.

“I was waiting for you, little one,” she teased joyfully.

“Morning, Emmy. Yes, well, I thought lighter shopping should be done first,” he smiled, “I hope there's still stock left…”

Emmy let out a hearty laugh. “Oho, aren't you funny! Of course there's stock, Ver, I'd ‘ave to be a madman not to save my best for my most loyal customers!”

Virgil laughed along with her, pushing his hair away from his eyes. He felt comfortable around Emmy; she was practically family, as he grew up buying from her stall with his mother.

He stocked up on the regular fabric, those used to make new tunics or simple dresses; he also bought a few meters of ones he'd use for personal projects. His mother would buy the fabric for any special orders when she needed it, rather than stocking up on expensive cloth only for it to be eaten by moths.

He was inspecting a lovely red fabric when an idea slipped into his mind. Smiling to himself, he paid off Emmy and made to the village square to meet with his friend.

\---

After dropping off the goods at Virgil’s house, the two were sent off, yet again, to collect water for a soup.

As they neared, a familiar voice could be heard.

“Aha! You better run!”

Virgil watched as a young boy ran away from Jason, who had a small bag in his grip. His nose flared at the scene and he shoved the empty bucket into Roman’s hands.

“Stay,” he ordered Roman, though he wasn't sure how well he'd obey.

He walked up to Jason, stopping a short distance behind him with crossed arms. “Oi, Jason!”

The bully whipped around and sneered at him. “Whadda you want, Virgil?”

Virgil gasped in mock surprise. “Such kindness in your words, Jason. You actually called me by my name.”

His scowl deepened.

“But I think there's a very good reason for that, isn't there, _friend_?” He stepped towards him. “How's the wedding planning going, Jason?”

Jason jabbed a finger into his chest. “You say another word and I’ll-”

Virgil tutted and wagged his finger in Jason's face. “Now, now, Jason. Wouldn't want your sister's wedding gown to be delayed because the tailor’s been injured, would we?”

Virgil slowly slipped his hand around the strap of the bag; neither Jason nor his goons seemed to notice. _Good._

“Then again, even if you didn't hurt me, with the threats you're making, I could always make a few stitches… _looser_ ,” he stepped closer, “So that, when she walks down the aisle,” he gripped the wrist of the hand on his chest, “The dress would just… _fall apart_. Could you imagine that? I mean, I wouldn't mind seeing _tha_ -”

He saw Jason’s shoulder tense, signalling the punch that was about to come. His grip on the bag tightened as Jason pulled back a fist. The strap ripped from the force.

Virgil quickly ducked out, bringing the bag behind him. The punch missed by a long shot, leaving Jason hunched over to regain his balance. The tailor-in-training raised his eyebrows in a silent question when Jason turned to him with flaming eyes.

Heavy breathing was the only sound from the group until Jason kicked the ground and turned away. “C’mon boys, there's nothing here for us.”

_Except your dignity._

Despite all of them knowing that, they followed without question.

Virgil waited ten seconds after he lost sight of them before he dared to release his breath. His shoulders sagged as he clutched the bag tightly.

“That was…” Roman trailed off, coming out from behind the building.

“Not me. I don't even know where that came from. I mean, _you know me_ ; how did I do that?” The tailor rambled, words melding together.

Roman chuckled. “I think the comment about his sister is what got me thinking that you'd been replaced with an imposter.”

“ _I know_ ,” he groaned, then looked to his hand, “And how am I even supposed to return this? I didn't get a good look at the guy and I can't exactly go wandering around the whole village looking for a boy who’s lost his satchel.”

“Um, excuse me?” a small voice interrupted.

The two turned to face him.

“I- I turned back when I heard you talking to him. And I- You were- I- Thank you for doing that,” the little boy stumbled over his words.

“Oh, uh… You're welcome?” he said slowly, ending with more of a question.

Roman took the bag from Virgil’s hand. “So I'm guessing that this is _your_ bag?”

The boy nodded. Roman handed it over to him.

“Oh, I could fix the strap first if you want,” Virgil added.

“There’s no need, sir. Thank you again!” He shouted as he ran off.

Roman nudged his friend's shoulder. “Well, you are _quite_ the hero today.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and took the bucket from Roman, heading to the water pump.

“No, I mean it! You're like a sneaky hero-type-person,” he clapped his hands together, “A rogue! You're a rogue: a hero from the shadows, who performs sneak attacks on unsuspecting villains.”  He moved his hands as if he were cutting through the air.

“Oh, yes, I'd be attacking in the shadows as you take on the evil monster in the limelight,” Virgil added sarcastically, pumping the handle.

“Exactly!” Roman beamed.

\---

Virgil was in the middle of sewing when he heard a loud, persistent knock at the door. His evenly spaced stitches weren't disrupted, thankfully. He carefully placed his project away, planning to continue later on.

“I'm coming!”

The moment he turned the handle of the door, it flew open, narrowly missing his face. A youthful man wearing round glasses stood in the doorway, hands clasped together and a wide smile on his face.

It took a few seconds for Virgil to collect himself. “Uh… May I help you?”

“Oh, yes!” the man clapped gleefully, “I made an order here a few weeks ago and I'd like to pick it up, please!”

Virgil blinked at the sheer joy rolling off of the man, before searching around for the book they keep of all their customers. “Oh, uh, of course. Just let me… What was your name again?”

He hit his head with the base of his palm. “Oof, silly me. Well, I'm Patton.” The man's grin had calmed slightly, to only a closed mouth smile.

“Patton… Patton… And that's spelt…?” he asked, flipping through the more recent orders.

“P-A-T-T-O-N. Like _pat_ ,” he patted the air, “And _ton_.” He mimicked carrying a heavy load in his arms.

The man, who Virgil was sure had to be older than himself, seemed very much like the kind of person who would act out every possible word they said if they could.

_Maybe he's practicing charades._

Virgil eventually found his name in the book, which had his order written neatly beside it.

“Just, uh, give me a moment.”

He retreated to the room where they stored all of their finished orders and easily found Patton’s order placed at the top of the pile.

On his way back to the shop front, he knocked on the door of his father’s workshop. He heard a gruff sounding “yes?” through the door then slowly pushed it open.

“Father? Is there an order from a ‘Patton’?”

His father  looked up, face scrunched up in thought. “Ah… Yes. Yes, I do remember that name. A spritely young lad, couldn't keep still. Allow me to get it-”

He cut himself off with a groan while attempting to stand, bracing a hand on his hip and leaning against the worktable for support.

“Tell me where it is, Father. I'll get it,” Virgil pleaded with a sad smile.

His father looked in pain more from his son's pleading than his weary bones. “It's… It's on the second shelf, closest to the crate. And Virgil,” he placed a hand on his shoulder, “Prepare some tea, will you? After you finish up with the customer, of course. I'll be out in a minute.”

Virgil smiled again, nodding at his father before returning to the cheerful man.

Patton's jaw dropped once he saw Virgil bring in a package wrapped with parchment and a pair of boots.

“Is… Is something wrong?” he asked, slightly taken aback by his reaction.

“No! Not at all!” He made grabbing motions with his hands. “May I see that?” He was practically jumping in place, biting his lip. _I'm surprised his glasses don't fall off his face by how much he struggles to stay still._

Virgil handed it over to the eager man, looking back to the book. “Alright, so that'll be… ten silver. You made a payment of five when you first came here, right?”

The young man nodded, taking out a small pouch from his trousers. After passing the silver pieces to Virgil he hugged the package and boots to his chest. “Do you mind if I change here?”

“Uh… Well, we have a folding screen just over there,” he pointed to the corner of the room that was usually reserved for ladies who wished to try on new dresses.

“Great!” he said as he rushed to change.

Virgil was still processing the strange interaction when his mother came up behind him.

“Sorry, dear. I was just washing myself behind the house. Has the customer left?” she asked, looking around.

“No, he's- well, he's trying on his order now, by the folding screen.”

His mother held a look that was a mixture of surprise and confusion. “Oh. Well, um…”

“Oh. My. Goodness!”

The two turned at the shout. His mother asked if everything was alright through the screen.

“ _Is everything alright?_ ” he mimicked, a second passing before he threw back the folding screen, a blinding smile on his face.

_How is he smiling so much? Is his jaw permanently stuck like that?_

At that moment, Virgil's father hobbled up to the group, leaning on his walking stick. “I heard some shouting, is something wrong?”

The man broke into a ramble. “Quite the contrary! This is _wonderful_ ! The jacket is just how I wanted it; cuffs, buttons, and all! And my _boots_ , oh my lord, they've never been more comfortable! How is it you've only charged ten silver? This is worth twenty!”

Both of his parents flushed at the compliments to their work.

“Well, technically they're fifteen: you paid five and then-” Virgil noted.

“Twenty-five then!” the man proclaimed, smile ever present. He took out his coin pouch again and took out ten more silver. He pressed the pieces into veteran tailor’s hand.

He made for the door before gasping and turning back.

_He probably wants his money back_.

“I just remembered that some friends of mine are planning to travel for a period. I'll be sure to bring them here to make comfortable gear for their trip!” he strode towards the door, the shoes he originally wore in hand, “Thank you once again!”

The man named Patton promptly shut the door and left the humble tailor-and-cobbler shop.

The family was left with their mouths open, trying to process what exactly had occured.

Virgil’s mother brought her hands to her face - one hand still in a fist, holding the coins-  to cover her mouth. A soft giggle escaped. The tiny giggles turned into cheers.

She pulled Virgil and his father into a bone-crushing hug, throwing all three into a bout of happy laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil woke up before dawn broke. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, but this time was different.

He rubbed his eyes, slowly prying himself from bed. Shivering from the cold of early morning, he pulled on his cloak to prevent his arms from freezing off.

Virgil grabbed a package from underneath his pillow, nabbed an apple from the kitchen and quietly left the house.

The first rays of sunlight could be spotted on the horizon as he made his way across the village. There were a few other people awake this early; either to get a head start on work or to quickly calm their roosters. Virgil waved at them, and they would wave back if they weren't half-conscious.

By the time Virgil reached his destination, it was properly dawn and the roosters were crowing as if it were their last day.

He made his way around Roman’s house and knocked on the window frame closest to where Roman slept.

When there was no answer, he pushed back the wooden panels enough so that he could see that his friend asleep, drool pooling on his bed.

Virgil snickered at the sight and pushed the wooden panels open all the way, allowing a few beams of sunlight into the room.

Roman groaned as he felt the warmth hit his face. He pulled his blanket over his head.

Virgil tutted. “C’mon now, Princey. Wakey wakey.” He knocked against the wooden panels slightly harder.

“Just a few more seconds,” said a muffled voice.

Crossing his arms on the window sill, Virgil leaned into the room. “So… I'm guessing you _don't_ want your birthday gift?”

Roman shot up at that, clambering to the window. “You got me a gift!”

Virgil chuckled at his friend, raising a hand to his friend's cheek. “Yes, you _doof_.” He wiped the drool from his face using his sleeve.

He pushed away Virgil's hand and started furiously scrubbing at his own cheek. “So, where is it? What is it? _Whatdidyougetmewhatdidgetmewha-”_

“ _Here_ ,” he pushed the soft package into Roman’s arms. Virgil looked down, his hair falling over his eyes.

Roman pulled his friend into an awkward hug, the window sill between them digging into their torsos. “Thank you, Verge. I love it.”

“You haven't even opened it,” Virgil said, managing a smile while wringing his hands under the window sill, away from Roman’s view.

“But I know I'll love it,” he retorted, carefully unwrapping the package.

As the thin parchment fell to the floor, Roman stared at the gift in his hand.

After a beat of silence, Virgil opened the floodgates. “I know it's not anything _special_ , I mean, it's just a piece of _fabric_ \- but I was _planning_ on lining it with a bit of wool? Then I realised it would be too hot or get too heavy if it rained so I ended up just sewing the edges- y’know so that they won't fray and I _know_ it's not much and-”

Roman squeezed Virgil's shoulder, shocking him to silence. He moved his hand down his arm until he reached Virgil's hand, gently holding it in one hand.

“Virgil, it's _perfect_ ,” Roman said with a soft smile.

Virgil only blinked.

He let go of his hand to unfold the red fabric to its full length and wrapped it around his neck loosely. He ran his hands down the sash a few times then looked up. “I guess you _really_ don't like that old blue sash, do you?”

Virgil sputtered, trying to rebut the statement, which sent Roman leaning back to laugh.

“I'm joking! I'm joking, Verge!”

He frowned at his friend before looking down again. “But you _do_ like it, right? It’s not…”

A moment of hesitation passed before Roman bent down and leaned against the window sill, so that he was looking up at Virgil. “Thank you. Honest, Virgil. I love it.”

Virgil pushed back his bangs and gave a wonky smile to his friend. “Happy Birthday, Princey.”

\---

They had a quick breakfast with Roman’s father and made their way to Virgil's house- where his mother promptly forced them out the door to celebrate Roman turning sixteen. Virgil managed to grab his satchel before being shoved out the door, and the two went to spend the day together as instructed.

Virgil had also adjusted Roman’s sash before they left, wrapping it over one shoulder and tying it at the waist; the way he wore it when they were younger. However, as the day went on, the sash ended up wrapped around his waist as usual.

They'd decided to stop by the baker’s shop first to see if they could get freshly made pastries. The exchange didn't go exactly as planned to say the least.

_“Roman, I know that today is your birthday!” the young girl sang, holding out a cake which had ‘I LOVE YOU -MALIA’ written on it in sugary icing._

_“Oh, uh- How kind of you, but you really didn't have to-” Roman began. Virgil slowly raised a fist to his mouth._

_“YOU'RE SO MODEST, MY LOVE! Today is your special day! You deserve a thousand cakes! More than that!”_

Eventually, her father entered the shop and proceeded to shove her into the kitchen. The baker offered discounted pastries as an apology for his daughter's behaviour. Roman only accepted them to leave sooner.

The moment the baker’s shop was out of sight, Virgil burst into laughter to the point of tears. Roman, on the other hand, was a blushing mess; he couldn't hide his red face as he was holding the cake in one hand and the bag of apple danishes in the other.

“I- I _cannot_ believe that- that _actually_ happened!” Virgil managed through his manic laughter.

Roman only grumbled, lengthening his strides to get away faster.

“She _really_ hasn't let it go, has she?” Virgil teased, jogging slightly to catch up.

Malia had been ‘saved’ by Roman when they were much younger, only a few weeks before him and Virgil became friends.

It just so happened that Roman was still very vocal about his dream of becoming a prince at the time, and Malia had not been one to quell that dream. She grew infatuated with Roman, insisting that she would be his queen and she has not stopped believing that, apparently.

_What if Roman finally gave in? I don't doubt that she's a sweet girl._

_What if they got_ married _?_

_…_

_Would_ I _have to make the dress?_

_…_

_If Roman got married, would he pay for the wedding gown to be made?_

_Would my mother give it for free? I mean, she's got a soft spot for him but wedding gowns are expensive._

_But would_ I _make it for free?_

_… Probably not, that wouldn't be very smart for the business. A discount maybe? But then-_

“Virgil?”

He was pulled out of his train of thought of how business would clash with relationships. Virgil hummed in response.

“Are we going to the spot?” Roman asked.

“Yeah, obviously,” Virgil said with a smile. He outstretched his hand. “Here,” he looked to the desserts in his friend's hands.

Roman smiled and went to give him the cake but Virgil pulled back, wagging his finger. He rolled his eyes and gave him the bag of danishes instead.

Virgil grinned cheekily. “Now, now, Princey, that cake is yours and yours only. Wouldn't want lil’ Malia to think I'm taking your gift.”

“In all honesty, I would not be adverse to be rid of this,” Roman got out through grit teeth, a blush growing on his face again.

Virgil held his free hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. “For shame, Roman! For shame! How dare thee reject such a kind and most gracious gift from a lovely maiden such as Lady Malia.”

Roman's brows knit together and his nose scrunched up, though it was obvious he was holding back a smile. “I do _not_ speak like that.”

Virgil only raised his eyebrow which Roman replied to by sticking out his tongue. _As a prince does._

\---

The two had settled at the base of a large pine tree not too far into the forest. The spot had been claimed by them when Roman turned ten and could actually go there without supervision.

Virgil smiled at the memory of Roman running into the forest without a care in the world, then proceeding to trip over large roots. Multiple times.

He stuffed the rest of his pastry into his mouth to hide his smile before Roman could ask about it. Instead, he asked why Virgil thought it was a good idea to shove food down his throat when he struggled to swallow the pastry.

“Happy Birthday,” he managed to say, though with his mouth full it sounded more like ‘Affy Burfda’.

Roman nudged his shoulder playfully and let out a chuckle. He reached for the last piece of cake remaining on the small tray.

Virgil finally managed to swallow, his throat dry. He took out a water skin and brought it to his mouth, not before asking, “How's the cake, by the way?”

“It's really good actually!” Roman pondered for a bit, “Maybe I should think of returning her feelings-”

Virgil nearly choked as he remembered his business troubles. He turned away and coughed into his elbow.

His friend had an amused look on his face. “I didn't realise that you were so against me and Malia-”

He whipped around to face Roman. “No! No, not at all. I just… Remembered a few business ventures I'd thought of a while ago.” He held back a cringe at his twisted truth.

Roman kept his gaze on him for a while longer then shrugged and promptly lay his head in Virgil's lap. Virgil only rolled his eyes and went to take a proper drink of water.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, Virgil adjusting his legs so that they wouldn't be too sore.

Virgil’s gaze naturally fell on his friend. The tighter curls he’d had when they were younger had loosened into waves of brown hair. His face still bore a child-like resemblance, having not completely grown. The bright red of the sash was stark against the browns and creams of their clothing.

He leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes, attempting to get some rest.

That was until Roman began prodding and poking at Virgil's chin.

Virgil groaned and looked down at his friend. “What?”

“C’mon what were you _really_ thinking about?” Roman asked, a pout on his lips.

He hesitated before spilling the truth, the two rarely kept any thoughts from each other for long anyway. “I was thinking about whether or not I'd give you a discount on wedding attire. Specifically, Malia’s wedding gown- if you two ever got married.”

It didn't take long for Roman to curl in on himself and laugh his lungs out. He regained his composure after a bit, only to burst out laughing again. If there was a possibility that Virgil had giggled along too, he'd never tell.

“You- And I thought- AHAHAHA- Verge, I thought at most- at _most_ you'd be a bit against us but _no_! You're already planning our wedding!”

At that, Virgil pushed his friend off of his lap and stood, making as if to walk away.

“Wait, Verge!” Roman quickly got to his feet and lunged at him, enveloping him in a hug from behind. However, the force brought the two to the ground.

Roman continued his slightly less manic laughter, rolling off of his friend to lay on his back. Virgil huffed and supported himself on his elbows. A lopsided smile made its way to his face seeing Roman clutching his stomach from laughing.

Once the laughter finally tapered off, Virgil teased him. “Are you done?”

Roman wiped at his eyes. “Yes. Yeah, I'm done. Thank you for best birthday gift.”

“I'm assuming you mean the sash?”

“And that too.”

Virgil snorted.

A moment of silence almost stretched too long before Roman broke it. “You _would_ give me a discount, right?”

Virgil didn't miss a beat. “Not a chance.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, minor warning for this chapter. If you're uncomfortable with descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, stop reading after ---. Just in case.

Virgil and his mother sat at a long table, where makeshift pincushions, spools of thread and a variety of fabric lay in an organised mess on it. He was helping her thread needles and they planned to repair their clothes if business was quiet.

A knock at the door interrupted the comfortable silence they had settled in. Virgil made for the door while his mother cleared some space on the table.

Before he could greet whoever stood behind it, a hand stopped it from opening fully.

“Can we shut the windows?” a stern yet familiar  voice asked.

Patton's brow was furrowed, his mouth a thin line; nothing like the joyful man that Virgil remembered from their previous interaction.

“Uh, sure?” Virgil replied cautiously.

The young man's face immediately shifted into it's familiar form. A wide smile appeared, the stress lines morphed into happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Great!”

Virgil attempted to look behind Patton but he let himself inside only slightly forcefully.

“Oh, how _rude_ am I? Hi! Remember how I said that I'd bring my friends here? Well, here they are!” His voice was loud and boisterous again, a stark difference from his previous tone.

Virgil pushed the wooden panels into a shut position as his mother greeted Patton. He noted two hooded figures entering the house and closing the door quietly behind them.

Patton somehow noticed Virgil's concern and answered an unasked question. “Don't worry about the cloaks! They're a bit shy is all.”

“Ah, yes well, the cloaks will have to-” Virgil's mother was cut off.

Another man entered the house and closed the door in one fluid motion.

“Sir? You can't-”

“Excuse me, are you-”

“Logan!” Patton spread his arms and embraced the man.

“Are all the windows shut?” the intruder asked in a commanding tone.

Patton pulled away from the hug but kept his hands on Logan's shoulders, nodding seriously.

Logan looked ready to interrogate more but Virgil interrupted.

“Alright, who are you? Sir, you can't just barge in here. And- _Who_ are you two?” Virgil was frantic as he turned to the cloaked people.

“Vigil! Manners!” his mother scolded.

“How _dare_ -” Logan started.

A soft yet forceful voice cut him off. “Logan, you needn't act as such.”

He bit his lip and bowed his head slightly. “I apologise.”

One of the figures lowered their hood to reveal a woman whose hair was elegantly positioned and placed on her head. However, it took no more than a glance at her face to send the two tailors bowing deeply.

“Your Highness!” Virgil's mother exclaimed, “I- I- I did not-”

The Queen raised her hand, immediately silencing the veteran tailor. A kind smile was on her face. “Really, it is no issue. You have a right to be apprehensive. I would imagine it to be quite a shock to see hooded figures enter your humble abode.”

Virgil's first thought was, _Wow, Roman has got_ nothing _on the language of actual royals._

His second thought comprised of a jumble of confusion, mostly directed at their attire. Upon a passing glance, they looked like regular clothing but on further inspection, he noted a few engraved buttons as well as golden embroidery on the Queen’s shoulders that had been covered up by the cloak.

He looked to his mother, who seemed to be holding her breath, for any indication of what to do.

The Queen noticed that the stunned silence had extended for longer than necessary. “What is your name?” She addressed the other woman in the room.

“Li-Li-Lillian, Your Highness,” she stuttered out, “A-and this is my son, Virgil.”

“Well, Lillian, if you would be so kind to accept an order? If my memory serves me correctly, Patton has informed you that we plan to travel soon? He holds fond memories of his transaction,” a small chuckle escaped after the last sentence.

Lillian nodded. “I do remember him mentioning that, yes.” Her voice steadied; business was familiar. “When do you plan to travel? I will need to know so I can use the appropriate material.”

“Ah, yes, my son and I plan to leave just before the snow falls. It will still be cold and…” the Queen trailed off as Lillian had begun mumbling to herself.

“Yes, yes… Before the snow falls? Quite cold, yes, cold… Wool lined? Perhaps too hot…” She noticed that the Queen had stopped talking, “Oh! I'm sorry, Your Highness, I… I was just thinking. Um, we should take measurements, do you mind removing your cloak?”

“Not at all. Oh, Thomas?” She looked to the other hooded figure.

The Crown Prince lowered his hood to reveal a young face and similar attire to his mother. He unclasped his cloak and folded it over his arm.

Virgil snapped out of his trance. “Oh! Uh, you can place your cloaks on,” he looked around for a suitable placeholder for _royal attire_ , “Uh… That chair?”

The two royals carefully placed their cloaks over the back of the chair.

“Virgil, dear, could you take measurements of His Highness?” His mother had a bundle of string in her hand, a small piece of charcoal and parchment on the table.

He nodded and quickly retrieved what he needed.

He noticed Patton and Logan still standing by the doorway, the latter of the two had a mixture of confusion and worry on his face.

“Um, Pa- sirs? You two can sit on that bench,” Virgil gestured to their right.

Once he unwrapped the bundle of string, he went to work. He recited the regular instructions, though more wary to not be too demanding.

“Your Highness, could you make sure you're standing straight?”

“Please extend your arm, Your Majesty.”

“Your Highness, please stand apart slightly.”

The prince cringed. “Please, you don't have to say “Your Highness” or “Your Majesty” _every_ time.”

Virgil was slightly taken aback. “I apologise, my Lord.”

The Crown Prince physically recoiled at that title. “No, I mean- just Thomas is fine.”

“Are you sure, Your Highness?” _Is this a test? Can he throw me in the dungeons for referring to him so casually?_

“Thomas. And yes,” he insisted.

“Alright… Thomas,” he said quietly, so not as to let anyone overhear him.

The Pr- Thomas smiled.

A silence fell between the two.

“Patton loves your work. He told everyone to touch his jacket after he got it,” Thomas mentioned.

“Oh, that's all my mother and… He said as much before he left,” he laughed softly at the memory.

Virgil gaze drifted to see the two older men. Patton had laid his head on Logan's shoulder, who, surprisingly, didn't seem to mind. He was toying with his hand as the two kept up a conversation. Logan was chuckling at something Patton had said.

Thomas noticed where Virgil's attention had moved. “Ah, yes, they act like a married couple most of the time. I wouldn't be surprised if they were to be properly wed.”

The tailor’s eyebrows shot up, eyes wide.

“Is that a problem?” the prince inquired, no heat in his tone.

“No, I… How does Patton know yo- the royal family?”

It was a question Virgil had been meaning to ask and he thought hat telling the prince that “it was unexpected that he was fine with such relationships” wasn't going to end well.

The prince chuckled at that. “Well, when I was still a baby, I'd wandered off into the servant’s quarters. Patton found me, and apparently I wouldn't let go of him. From stable boy to caretaker of the prince,” he laughed softly at his own words, “He isn't _that_ much older than me, but I see him and Logan as parental figures more than brotherly ones.”

“And Logan?”

“Our most trusted Royal Advisor. He was an apprentice to the librarian but worked his way to getting this position,” he leaned forward and lowered his voice, “It’s not been very long that he's had this position, so he's still very paranoid. As was demonstrated when he came in.”

Virgil nodded thoughtfully, taking the last few measurements- the ones that were more dependant on customer preference.

Just as he finished, he caught the tail end of the two mothers’ conversation.

“No, no, you should not have to pay-”

“Nonsense. This is your business; we should have to pay at full price otherwise this would not be a fair and just kingdom.” The Queen smiled.

Virgil's mother hesitated. “Th-Thank you, Your Majesty.”

The two royals pulled on their cloaks.

“If it comes to that I will not be able to retrieve the clothing myself, Patton will come in place,” said the Queen.

After a nod from both tailors, the two royals and Patton took off with “thank you”s, Patton having scanned the street before they left.

Logan stayed behind.

“I apologise for my actions earlier. It was unwarranted,” the Royal Advisor said, guilt dripped from his voice.

“You were worried of their safety and we were disrespectful. It is understandable, but we accept your apology nonetheless.” Virgil's mother smiled at Logan.

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said before leaving the shop.

Lillian turned to her son. “Alright, now that they've left-” She squealed.

Virgil jumped back slightly at the unexpected sound.

“The _Queen_ , Virgil, she was _here_! In our _sho_! To order _our work_! I can't believe it. I must be dreaming- I must. I _must_!”

He smiled widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You aren't dreaming.”

She had a hand over her mouth as she squealed again. “ _I know_!”

\---

“And then I told her ‘Miss! You can't do that!’” Patton was energetically giving a run-down of something that had happened in the palace. Virgil could only catch every other word by how fast he was speaking.

The two had bumped into each other in the market and the older man insisted on tagging along the rest of the way. They were now perusing the market, gathering ingredients for his mother.

Interactions between them had occurred more often than Virgil had expected, especially considering the royal family’s order had been completed. Yet, Patton seemed to be ever present in the village now, always catching Virgil whenever he was out.

Not that Virgil didn't appreciate the company; Roman had attempted to ignore Virgil after he told him about his encounter with royalty - the key word being _attempted_. After that brief period of distance, they hadn't talked about anything but the royal family or royalty. Roman had only ever been that enthusiastic about his dream when they were younger but his interaction with the royal family has seemed to reignite his passion.

Frankly, it drove Virgil near mad. So, it was nice to have a conversation, though one-sided for the most part, that wasn't concerning royalty.

“Virgil!” Patton waved his hand in front of the tailor’s face.

“Oh, uh,” he took a moment to shake himself out of his daze, “What was the question?”

Patton held his smile but his brows tilted down, worry clear in his eyes. “No question, but… Are you alright, Virgil?”

“I didn't get much sleep last night is all,” Virgil answered smoothly; not exactly a lie but not the whole truth either.

“Not buying it,” the man deadpanned, but when Virgil glanced at him again, his smile hadn't wavered.

_I don't know whether I should be terrified or impressed by how happy he always looks._

“Well, I don't know what to tell you- It's the truth,” Virgil insisted.

Patton chewed at his lip. “Y’know, at first I thought it was Roman,” Virgil jolted slightly at his name, “Judging by how you two haven't been attached at the hip recently. But now… I think it's something else… Something that's been going on for a while.”

Virgil kept his eyes trained on his feet, trying to keep his strides normal. _He doesn't know. You're overthinking this. He just thinks you have sleeping problems. He. Doesn't. Know._

“No, I don't know what's wrong,” _How did-_ “I just notice things,” he said nonchalantly, as if he wasn't sending Virgil's ‘fight or flight’ system churning.

There had been a few people who were worried and asked about his condition, but they almost always bought the excuse of ‘sleeping problems’ or ‘busy with an order’ and occasionally ‘ate a bad apple’. A few needed a bit more persuading, but generally they would eventually fall into the excuses.

Yet Patton was completely rejecting his standard excuses. Virgil was worried that if the man pushed any further, he'd spill everything. A part of him wanted that to happen.

“Virgil? You know that I'm here, right? You can tell me what's wrong.” At last, the wide smile was gone, instead replaced with a face similar to when he brought the royal family to the shop.

The tailor hesitated for a moment.

“Virgil?”

“Forest.”

Patton didn't miss a beat. “Alright.”

They headed straight for the forest, Virgil leading the way, not bothering to send the goods home first.

_Oh god, I feel like I'm going to burst. It's alright. It's alright. It's Patton. Patton is good. Yes? I don't know anymore._

He didn't bring them to the pine tree - that was a private place. Instead, he led Patton to an area that was further away from the village, nearby a shallow stream.

Virgil stopped in his tracks and gently placed the goods on the ground before sitting down, elbows on his knees and trying not to curl in on himself. Patton followed suit, sitting with crossed legs.

Neither said a word, which was strange as Patton usually filled silence with- well, anything.

It wasn't long before he did just that, assuming Virgil was going to keep quiet. “So, did I ever tell you about this one Lord who visited a few years ago?” It didn't sound out of place; it sounded like any other conversation he'd start.

“Why… Why do- Just why, Patton?” Virgil asked, still looking straight ahead at the trees on the other side of the stream.

He’d expected that Patton would dance around the question and continue his story instead. Though the older man averted his expectations yet again.

“Because I care, Virgil,” he said seriously, “I care about people around me, no matter how long I've known them. You can call me naive. Logan’s told me more times than I can count. The fact of the matter is that… I can feel when something's wrong. And- and you don't have to tell me but… Just know that I'm here. I’ll listen. And gosh darn it, I will try to help as much as I can.”

_Why? How? How can you care? How can you notice? Why do you burden yourself? Why are you so kind? How are you so kind? Will you really listen? Or will you leave after I let it all out? Who are you?_

_How will you ever help_ me _?_

Virgil closed his eyes. _Too much._

Patton added, in a softer voice. “I'm sorry if I've overstepped.”

Virgil brought his knees up to his chest, back arching, as he curled up. “I- I feel… I feel scared. All the time,” he said slowly, trying to arrange his thoughts.

Patton turned to face him. He gave a soft smile.

“Well, not _scared_ exactly. More like… Worried? No. I feel scared of everything but not frightened-scared, just… Cautious? Always ready to flee- like a tiny animal but _not_ and I-” Virgil rambled then abruptly cut himself off.

“You feel on edge? Paranoid?” Patton suggested.

Virgil nodded, burying half of his face in his arms. _There's so_ much _I want to say but I just- Can't. Say. It._

Patton allowed the tailor some time to breathe, to collect himself. He didn't attempt to touch him; no hugs, no rubbing on his shoulder. He didn't invade the space that Virgil needed.

_Breathe. In. Breathe. Out. Which deity do I have to thank for Patton existing?_

After a long while, which felt like a few seconds for Virgil, his breathing had steadied. Patton spoke up. “What- Are there any specific things you're scared of?”

Virgil almost snorted. “People. Just… People. The only people outside of my family that I feel… safe? I don't know how I'd explain it properly but that word seems to fit. But the only people I feel safe around are Emmy and Roman… And now, you too, I guess.

“And then there's,” he paused, “There’s the case of my father. He's ill. He's been ill for a while. And I- I'm so terrified that one day… One day I'll come back home and he won't be there anymore. What if I hadn't had the chance to say ‘I love you’? We- We're not- We're not the closest but I _still love him_. And then I think: ‘No one's going to take up his profession as a cobbler’ because I-” Virgil broke off, his voice strained and on the verge of tears.

He looked down at his hands, his vision blurry. Tears fell without his intention; they stained the cuffs of his tunic. “Because I- I never- I never _tried_ . All of his work, all of his _life_ , his craft, and I- I- I'm just _throwing_ it all away and it's my fault that he- his work will be _gone_ . Because I never bothered to _learn_ which means I'm responsible and I _failed him_.”

Virgil curled in on himself further, to the point where his muscles was aching. Hiccups and sobs came out but he managed to reign them in to say in a quiet voice, “He'll be gone and forgotten because of _me_.”

Virgil heard shuffling and a part of him thought that Patton had up and left, deciding that his case was hopeless. The other part knew that Patton wouldn't do that. It was difficult to believe the latter at the time.

“Here,” Patton said, a piece of soft fabric was extended in hand.

Virgil hesitantly took the fabric and used it to clean his face of the tear tracks and snot that had accumulated. He adjusted his body so that his back wasn't crying out in pain, but was still in a closed off position.

He looked up enough to see Patton kneeling in front of him; he'd also moved closer than he was before. Patton's face was difficult to read: brows furrowed, mouth set in a thin line, and he had taken off his glasses which lay limp in his hand.

_Is he frustrated? Pitiful? Worried? You were so easy before, who are you now?_

Patton fell on his rear, seated in a more relaxed position. He placed his glasses to the side. “Do you mind if I say something?”

Virgil shrugged as casually as he could. “Feel free to tell me that I'm being stupid.”

“No- Hang on. I want you to look at me, Virgil,” Patton leaned forward, widening his eyes, “Your worries aren't stupid. However, your reasoning is flawed.”

Virgil raised his eyebrow.

“It's- You- It isn't _your_ responsibility to continue whatever your parents started. Even if it were, you've already _done_ that: you took after your mother in her profession of dressmaking. And- and maybe, for some reason, you feel obligated to have learned how to fix shoes like your father. Whatever that reason may be - that you owed it to him as a way of saying how much you love him or because you're a man, and should therefore be a cobbler and not a tailor, even though that thinking is incredibly toxic and one that I do _not_ condone - but _I digress_ -” Patton caught himself from continuing that tangent.

Virgil smiled at Patton's attempt at comfort being sidetracked.

“ _Whatever_ the reason that makes you feel guilty, it doesn't matter. You are _not_ at fault. You say that he'll be ‘gone’ because you never tried- what does that mean? That people will only remember him if you were a cobbler? Virgil, even if- alright, let's say that that were true. _You_ would still remember him. Your _mother_ would still remember him. The people who _love and care_ about him will remember him.

“So maybe people will forget about the man as a cobbler, but does that really matter?”

Virgil's face twisted. _Of course it does- that is literally what I was getting at. That people will forget him._

“What I mean is- Would you rather your father be remembered as a cobbler by the kingdom _or_ him being remembered as the man he was - his heart, his mind, his stories - by those who _matter_? Is his job really more important than who he is?”

Patton finished with a soft smile whereas Virgil's face went slack.

_His job… Isn't- It- It's not…_

“But- but I-” Virgil stuttered.

“I think, now I'm just assuming here, that maybe… You feel guilty for not… talking to him more? You said that you weren't the closest and maybe you're just… Pushing that guilt into something else,” Patton offered.

Virgil's body loosened as his gaze flitted from one place to another, looking at anything but the man in front of him.

Patton reached for his glasses and cleaned the lenses using his tunic. He pushed them onto his face. “I'm not saying that- That speaking to your father more will solve the issue, because I'm pretty sure that one action will resolve what you're going through, but I think it _will_ help. In a tiny way.”

“No- I… I'll try. Thank you,” Virgil said, his voice hoarse.

A wide smile made its way to Patton's face, eyes still conveying worry. He stretched out his arms. “Hug?”

Virgil fully accepted the embrace. He buried his face into the man’s chest when he noticed that his signature neckerchief was missing. It didn’t take long for things to click in his mind.

“I’m sorry about your handkerchief, I promise I’ll wash it and-”

“Nonsense, I’m washing it,” Patton interrupted, “Now stop apologising and get back to hugging.”

Virgil didn’t fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this AU is called "Of Crowns and Thorns" so that's in the tags now also Virgil and Patton are best buds, that's canon.
> 
> And if you skipped the second half, it's basically Patton comforting Virgil when he has worries about his father.


	5. Chapter 5

Roman and Virgil were sat at the village square, where many others had gathered to spend some time relaxing.

“ _And_ \- he's an idiot,” Roman finished his long spiel.

Virgil snickered. “ _That's_ what you end on? ‘He's an idiot’? I think you've run out of insults, Princey.”

Roman feigned hurt at the comment. “Verge, I could never run out of insults for that _barbaric_ , _giant oaf_ of a human that is Jason. It just so happens that the fact that he's an idiot is the _biggest_ insult.”

“Sure it is.”

“Is to!”

“You _really_ wanna start that?” Virgil smiled with an eyebrow raised.

Before Roman could continue his childish antics, a familiar young man ran up to the both of them.

“Virgil!” Patton beamed. He glanced to the side, noticing Roman’s presence. “And Roman!”

Just as Virgil was about to return the greeting(?), Patton gasped and took half a step back.

“Oh, this is _perfect_! You're both here! This is great!”

“I'm sorry?” Virgil asked, both teens confused.

“Alright, okay, so, _Roman_ -” he made a show of addressing him, “You said that you _love_ royalty, right? And that you'd like to be closer to the royal family?”

_What-_

_Patton no-_

_What does he mean?_

_Patton, I_ only just _got him to stop talking about that all the time._

The two thoughts were the loudest ones that clashed in his mind.

Roman, on the other hand, seemed to have stopped thinking all together. A few moments passed before Roman furiously nodded.

“ _Well_ , the age for training has gone down!” Patton revealed, excited.

The statement didn't do much to clear confusion.

Looking at how they hadn't responded, Patton explained in fragments. “Training? For the position of royal guards? It's gone from a minimum age of eighteen to fifteen? Do you two really not know about the training that you can apply for?”

It took a few beats for the two boys’ minds to restart and process the information.

Virgil was the first to respond. “No, well, it's never really been an option for us? I mean, for me, personally. I'm not sure about Princey over here, though. I always assumed-”

“ _I CAN TRAIN TO BE A ROYAL GUARD?!?_ ” Roman exclaimed.

Both Virgil and Patton flinched at the sudden screech. Patton looked to Virgil with a concerned expression.

“Um, yeah?” Virgil explained slowly, “Most boys who don't want to do farm work usually go for training, but not a lot finish the training programme- Too rigid they say.”

Roman gaped at Virgil. “I NEVER EVEN KNEW THAT WAS AN OPTION!”

Virgil's face scrunched up, eyebrows brought together. “Even _my_ parents told me about it. They said if I really didn't want to continue the business, I could go for training. I told them that that was ridiculous; why would I go for training when-”

“‘WHY WOULD YOU GO FOR TRAINING?’ WHY _WOULDN'T_ YOU?”

“Roman, _lower your voice_ ,” Virgil pleaded, as looks in their direction increased.

“Well, I'm _sorry_. I've just had the most amazing opportunity given to me on a silver platter and I had no idea that _it was ever an option in the first place_ -”

Patton raised his hand, causing Roman to cut himself off. “Well, sometimes people won't tell their children because they don't want them going off to train to be a royal guard. Some assume that they'll find out through village talk. I'm surprised that you've never heard about it though.”

“I always thought that it was only open to nobility,” Roman said, very clearly holding back his frustrations.

“Oh, no. Positions for royal guard are open to the public. Now, being a knight, _that's_ for nobility and only nobility,” Patton explained, an easy smile on his face.

Roman deflated slightly. “Oh.”

“But still, _royal guard_! And you're of age, right?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, sixteen.”

“You could join if you wanted to, Virgil. Fifteen, yes?” Patton noted.

He shook his head. “Yeah but I'm alright with my job. No offense, Patton.”

“None taken.”

Roman inserted himself into the conversation. “If I may ask, why did they lower the age?”

Patton's face fell slightly. “Oh, uh… There's quite a few guards who are retiring. Most of them have been there since I was a young stable boy.”

A thought hit Virgil. “How long have you worked for the royal family, Patton?”

The smile returned. “Oh, all my life.”

“And that would be… how many years?” Roman asked, apparently having the same thoughts as Virgil.

“You'll find out one day, but that is not today,” Patton answered cheekily, turning around and briskly walking- no, skipping away.

Roman blew a raspberry. “No fun.”

Virgil nudged his friend. “Don't you want to ask him about the royal guard training?”

His eyes widened before he took off after the man. “See you later, Verge!” Roman yelled, voice trailing off as he ran further away.

Virgil smiled at his friend's retreating form.

He turned at the sound of soft giggling that came from a few girls who'd witnessed the ordeal. He quickly looked away and got up to leave, his face red as he rubbed the back of his neck.

\---

He had it all planned out. The only thing left he needed do was _actually do it_.

Virgil had started more casual conversation between himself and his father recently, which didn't go unnoticed by either parent. Not that they complained.

During their conversations, his father had disclosed that he'd intended on spending a day out with his mother at a festival. The particular festival he'd been aiming for was the Pre Solstice Gathering, where vendors would sell their wares to the people a week before the actual festival, in which the entire town would be bustling and full of dancers, musicians, entertainers and the like.

Unfortunately, in preparation of said festivals, his mother, along with many other artisans of the kingdom, had been called in to produce a large piece for the royal family.

(Virgil had confronted Patton about her being chosen and if he had anything to do with it, but the man had only rocked on his heels, saying, “ _Maaaybe_?”)

Of course, his father not being one to crush his mother's excitement at the opportunity, had dropped his intentions, never having brought them up to her at all.

So, Virgil did the obvious thing, and thought up something that might cheer his father up.

The two were sitting at a table, eating their supper - which tasted a bit off, he had to admit, neither of them had the skills of cookery such as the likes of his mother - as Virgil gathered the courage to just _ask his father_.

“Is something the matter, Virgil?” his father asked, noticing his discomfort.

The young tailor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um, I was wondering if… You would like to go to the Pre Solstice Gathering together? A bit of father-son bonding time, y’know?” The last sentence sounded strange out of his own mouth.

His father smiled and chuckled softly. “Of course, dear boy. I think that would be lovely.”

_Well. That was… Easy._

A few minutes passed, where they ate in comfortable silence before his father spoke again. “You spent hours worrying over that didn't you?”

Virgil stopped the spoon in its tracks. “... Days.”

His father placed his spoon on his plate and reached for Virgil's hand, which was tightly clenched around his fork. “You don't need to feel scared around me, Virgil.” He ended with a well-worn smile.

The words didn't reach Virgil but the effort and expression his father showed did. The tension in his body rolled off slowly and he returned the smile.

\---

Virgil was set on reorganising the shop: moving swaths of fabric from the pile on their long table to a closet he'd cleared out. He wanted the shop to be in good shape before he went out with his father the next day.

He handled a few rolls at a time, careful not to unravel them.

“Virgil!”

The cloth fell out of his arms as he jerked in surprise; the rolls coming undone as they rolled across the floor. Virgil’s nostrils flared as he turned to face his friend.

“What the hell, Roman?” _You're helping me re-roll these._

“Guess what?” Roman asked, either oblivious to or ignoring Virgil's annoyed state.

Virgil kneeled down to grab the fabric. “ _What_?”

“I'm starting training tomorrow!” he announced.

The tailor slowed his sloppy rolling of the fabric. “What?”

“Well, not really _training_ but a few drills to make sure that we can handle it. Today the drafting opened, and let me tell you _there were quite a number of people_ -”

“Roman, as much as I'd like to hear a complete rundown of your day, I really have some work to do-” Virgil interrupted, taking another length of fallen fabric and wrapped it messily around his hand.

“No, but- The thing is I saw Jason there. He's drafting,” Roman explained, smile gone and eyes wide.

Virgil raised an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation.

It didn't come.

He sighed, placing the bundle of cloth on the table. “And I should care about this _why_?”

“Because it's _Jason_ ,” Roman spread his arms for emphasis.

Virgil began fiddling with the unraveled cloth, his hands searching for something to do. “I always… Roman, I knew- or well, I had an inkling that he'd draft. It's not a surprise.”

“But… But it- it's _Jason_. _The_ Jason. The person that's tormented you for most of your childhood! And he's drafting as _royal guard_? It's- it's _unfair_!”

“Roman.” The person in question flinched at Virgil's stern voice. “It isn't ‘unfair’. It makes sense. He never liked doing farmwork but he's got the strength and bulk to be a guard. Jason has the foundations they want, and they'll just train the discipline into him. I don't know where you've been for most of your life, probably too caught up in your fantasies to _even notice_ what's _actually_ happening here, but people like Jason-”

Roman's voice was small. “My what?”

Virgil froze.

_Wait-_

_No-_

_That's not what I meant-_

_Of course it's what you meant._

_No- I- I didn't mean to_ say _it._

_But you did._

_Wait- no- I didn't-_

“I'm “ _too caught up in my fantasies_ ”? Is that what you think of me?” His brows were knit together and he was slowly backing away.

“No- Roman, I would _never_ -,” _Yes, you would._ “I wouldn't- You're not-”

“I'm not what? Not ever going to achieve my dream?”

“ _No_ ,  _I didn't_ -”

“Well, guess what? I know that. But maybe I'd like to believe in something that makes me happy. In something that makes me have hope. Rather than _sulking around and worrying over everything I do to the point where I stop living_.”

Virgil felt a pang in his chest.

Roman made for the door. Before he left, he turned to address Virgil once more. “I just wanted to tell you that I drafted and that someone who hurt you did too. I was hoping for a ‘good luck’ at the least. But I guess you wouldn't believe in luck either.”

Roman closed the door softly but that hurt more than if he had slammed it.

Virgil slowly dropped to the floor.

_Why do you mess everything up. You're useless. You can't do anything. You always mess up._

His gaze was trained to the ground. He noted the mud on his boots. He should probably wash them. His boots. _Boots._

He raised his head and inhaled deeply. _Remember Patton. Remember what he said._

_One thing at a time. Father. We'll go out. We'll have a lovely time. One step. One at a time. Small steps. One problem at a time._

He barely noticed that the voice sounded more like his own than Patton’s.

\---

Virgil would have to say that he was doing quite a good job at enjoying himself. He and his father browsed the many vendors; their prices ranged from ridiculously expensive to dirt cheap and the prices didn't properly reflect the quality of items either.

Virgil tried to stray away from any fabric stalls, instead aiming for leather, shoe shine, and the like.

After a couple hours of browsing, having inevitably bought a few of the more fairly priced goods, they found themselves at the village square where a few musicians were playing.

They sat on the ledge of the fountain, resting and appreciating the music. An small applause rang out when they completed the song. The musicians rested for a short while, taking drinks of water, before they started again.

Upon the sound of the first chords, Virgil's father’s face lit up. He swayed along to the music then leaned towards his son.

“This song is special to me and your mother.” His eyes were closed, his mouth held a content smile. “We danced along to it during the Solstice Festival. Every time they played it, we-” He moved his hands gracefully through the air, still swaying his body slightly.

Virgil smiled. He felt like he learned more about his parents- and his father in particular- every day. At first, he felt guilty about it; the fact that he knew so little about them but he'd grown to appreciate that they had an entire life that he couldn't have known, no matter how much time he spent with them.

His father dropped his hands and stopped swaying, though his smile remained. “Oh, if only I could dance with her again. Nowadays it's too… crowded, really. My back doesn't help much either.” He let out a low chuckle.

Before Virgil could say anything, his father continued. “Thank you, Virgil. Truly. Today was wonderful.”

Virgil’s throat felt dry as he swallowed. “It… It's no problem.”

That night, Virgil found difficulty sleeping as his mouth refused to stop smiling.

\---

_One at a time. One step. Small steps. One problem at a time._

He repeated those sentences under his breath until he finally reached the small house. Virgil tentatively knocked on the door to be met with the kind face of Roman’s father.

“Ah! Virgil, lovely to see you. Roman's in his little space, says he needs rest, been training to be a royal guard did’ya know?” He spoke heartily and greeted Virgil with a smile.

_I guess Roman didn't tell him about…_

“Yeah, he… He told me. Does that mean… He got in?” Virgil asked tentatively.

Roman's father pat him on the back _hard_ before letting out a low chuckle. “I think it's best he tells you that. Now off you go and enjoy yourselves.”

Virgil murmured a “thank you” and made his way to his friend.

He found Roman where his father said he would be but it seemed like he was expected, as he was met with a cold gaze.

The two boys just looked at each other for a long while before Virgil broke.

“Roman, I'm so sorry- I really didn't mean to say that- I just-” he stumbled over his apology, his sentences starting before the last one ended.

Roman held up a hand. “I know.”

A suffocating silence fell over them.

“I'm sorry too.”

Virgil's head whipped up in surprise.

“I shouldn't have… I don't know. I shouldn't have acted like that,” Roman admitted.

Virgil nodded.

Another bout of silence fell.

“Did… Did you get in?”

“What?”

“Are you… you know, actually training to be a…?” he trailed off.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Roman said, as if he didn't believe himself, “I think Jason did too, so…”

“That's- That's good. I mean, you getting in is good. Jason getting in is… expected.”

Roman rubbed at his neck. He inhaled deeply before looking at Virgil again. “So what did you do yesterday?”

“I, uh, I went to the Pre Solstice Gathering with my father. I actually wanted your help with something,” Virgil told him.

“Hmm?”

“You… You still have that lute, right?”

“The one from my uncle-”

“Your uncle, yeah,” Virgil finished with him.

“Yeah? Why?” he asked slowly, getting up and beginning to sift through a crate of random items.

“My father told me about this song he and my mother would dance along to. I… I wanted to try and play it for them.”

“You can't really learn to play an instrument in a few days, Verge.”

Virgil smiled at the use of his nickname. “Yeah, well, I meant more along the lines of playing the basic tune.”

“Alright, I guess I can try to- Aha!” Roman pulled out an old and worn lute, triumphantly holding it over his head.

Virgil snickered but soon the two sat down on Roman's bed, attempting to play the song. Virgil would hum the tune and Roman would try to replicate it.

After a few hours, they had managed to play something similar to the song Virgil remembered and it only took another hour for Virgil to correctly play the simple chords.

 _It's only three notes, come on, I can_ do _this._

Virgil hummed along to his slow and stilted playing of the lute, until he was satisfied with his work.

“Thanks Princey,” he said, brushing himself off.

“It was noth- Actually, no, it _was_ something and I'd like some payment for my teaching services, thank you very much,” Roman claimed, also getting up. He grabbed the bright red sash and tied it around his waist loosely.

Virgil chuckled at his friend. He inspected the sash and untied it.

“Hey, what-”

He wrapped the fabric around Roman's shoulder, then around his waist before knotting it.

Virgil smiled at his handiwork. “There. Just like before. A guard should tie their sash properly.”

Roman rolled his eyes but he was smiling. He nudged Virgil’s shoulder.

_So I guess we're not talking about it._

Virgil nudged back.

_Alright._

\---

“Mother? Father?” Virgil called out from the shop.

“Yes? Oh-” his mother gasped in surprise upon seeing the cleared out room.

The long table and various chairs were pushed against the wall, a few lit candles dotted around.

Once his father entered the room, Virgil pulled out a single chair and placed one foot on top it.

“Virgil, what is this?” his father asked.

He took a deep breath and took the lute from his satchel. “I wanted to… Do something for you two.”

Virgil slowly played the simple chords, humming along and trying not to cringe at his playing.

His mother brought her hands to her mouth in shock and his father’s face lit up. Taking lead, Virgil's father set aside his cane and held out his hand.

“A dance?”

She hesitantly took his hand, a bright smile on her face. They danced slowly, cautious not to hurt his father.

Virgil repeated the three chords and hummed along, trying not to eavesdrop on his parents’ quiet murmuring and soft giggling.

He _had_ managed to catch a few sentences though.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for not updating sooner, but I did manage to plan out the rest of this fic. There should be around 3 more chapters if I outlined this right. 
> 
> Also, sorry for taking the focus away from Roman and Virgil in this chapter, I wanted to write a bit about his family.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Harsh/crude language is used in this chapter (and possibly, all chapters after this). Also, this is the point where I've given up on trying to make people speak like ye-olde, so enjoy some modern slang thrown in here.
> 
> I swear, these chapters are getting longer than the last and that is _not_ what I intended.

Ten years.

Well, almost.

Just over a week until it would be their friendship’s ten year anniversary.

Roman apparently had something planned for it.

Virgil was dreading it. However, he'd admit that he was somewhat looking forward to it.

_“Okay, okay, so I_ do _have something planned for our decade-ant anniversary but-”_

_“Did you just say ‘decade-ant’?”_

_“Shush. Buuut, I have some training. I promise I'll be there on the actual day though!”_

_“Roman, it's just an anni-”_

_“Ah-bup-bup-bup no talking, I planned something and you're gonna_ love _it, Verge.”_

_Virgil sighed. “Alright, Princey.”_

\---

Virgil felt hollow.

He managed to stay in the present, though.

His mother was another case. Her eyes were unfocused and hazy. She couldn't even string sentences longer than three words together.

Virgil had to steer anyone away from her, lest she break down again. A part of him knew that it was selfish: feeling too much would be better than not feeling at all, wouldn't it? But he couldn't bear seeing his mother in that state.

_Virgil forced himself to turn to his mother as he struggled to breathe._

_She was hunched over, knees brought to her chest and a hand covering her mouth. Tears and snot streamed down her face as she hiccuped in between sobs._

_The position was so familiar to Virgil but the circumstances were so_ vastly _different that he hesitated in his advances._

_He didn't know how long it took before he snapped out of his trance but once he did, he immediately went to action. Prying his mother's hand away from her face, he enveloped her in a tight embrace._

_She did not return it._

Virgil gave empty greetings to the people who cared enough to come to the small ceremony that Emmy insisted on. Neither Virgil nor his mother were up for it but Virgil pushed past the shock and grief.

_A few hours. Then make sure Mother is alright. Then… Then…_

A hand waved in front of Virgil and he flinched slightly before focusing on the blurry figure in front of him. He blinked a few times to clear the fuzziness.

“Virgil? Are you alright?”

Upon seeing the stark black hair of the stranger, he finally identified them as Jason.

For a moment, Virgil was fully present in the moment as his snark was automatic.

“Huh. You used my name.”

Virgil expected a snarl or a dismissive scoff at the very least but instead he was met a sad smile.

“Yeah… I guess I did,” Jason admitted.

The two stood in silence for a moment. Then Virgil's mind caught up to him.

“Wait, wait. Shouldn't you be training?” Virgil asked. “Roman said that-”

“Oh. Um, Roman is… Training for a higher position. Captain. So I'm not, uh, doing… that,” Jason finished lamely.

“Oh.”

Jason chewed at his lip. “Look, Virgil, I know that we- that _I_ was really… That I bullied you but I want you to know-”

Virgil held up a hand. “Save your apologies. Not… not today.”

The older boy- _man_ , Virgil’s brain supplied, paused with his mouth open. Jason pondered for a bit. “Well, I should also say that your dad made the best boots. Honest.”

The use of past tense scathed Virgil's heart. Despite the pain, he knew that Jason didn't mean to inflict it. “Thank you. He… He would've appreciated the comment.”

Jason nodded and awkwardly teetered on the balls of his feet before announcing that he was going to stand by his sister, who’d also come for the ceremony.

The ceremony went along smoothly but it was mostly a blur to Virgil. He remembered saying some words about his father; nothing too deep or emotional, just some shallow comments about how he “was a good man” and “an even better cobbler, if his customer's comments were anything to go by”, the latter of which released a small chuckle out of the crowd. Virgil knew he wouldn't be able to _really_ talk about his father without breaking down. His mother didn't need that.

She didn't say any words. Virgil didn't try to prod them out of her. Neither did anyone else. It was plainly obvious that she was somewhere else for the entirety of the ceremony.

Another thing that no one dared to do was ask the young tailor where the boy with the red sash was during the event.

\---

In all honesty, they didn't have to tell anyone that the shop would be closed for a few weeks but they did anyway. A piece of parchment was nailed to the door of the shop that read:

‘TAILOR’S CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.’

Then below it in scratchier, more rushed handwriting.

‘COBBLER’S CLOSED PERMANENTLY’

\---

Virgil guided his mother to a seat at the dining table. He poured her a cup of tea. Turning back to his mother, he saw that her eyes were shut. He gently set down the cup in front of her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She blinked slowly and smiled at the cup of tea. Placing a hand over her son's, she looked up at him. “Thank you, Virgil.”

He nodded, smiling back.

A knock was heard from the door. The shop door. He held his breath. His mother seemed unfazed.

“I'll get that, Mother.”

She nodded sweetly in reply, bringing the cup to her lips.

Virgil walked towards the shop section of their house. Where there used to be an open archway, there was the folding screen, acting as a barrier between the shop and their home. At least until they started running the business again.

_If we ever do that._

Shaking his head, he pushed aside one of the panels and made no haste to greet whoever it was that couldn't or didn't read the sign on the door.

However, when he opened the door, he was met with a distressed looking Roman.

“Oh,” was all Virgil said.

Roman, on the other hand, began spewing out words frantically. “Virgil, I- I heard about what happened and I'm _so sorry_ that I wasn't there for you. I just- I- Are you- Virgil, I-” He struggled to say anything coherently.

While Roman was stumbling over his words, Virgil kicked himself mentally.

_You are fine. Show that- You. Are. Fine._

Virgil loosened his posture as best he could and put on an amused smile, an eyebrow raised. “Princey, I'm fine. You didn't- It's not your responsibility to _always_ be there for me, you know?” He laughed a bit.

Roman pouted as his brows knit together.

“Anyway, are you coming in the house or…?” Virgil continued, trailing off.

His friend cautiously entered the shop, closing the door behind him. “Virgil, are you sure that-”

Roman cut himself off as he looked around the shop. Virgil wasn't surprised at his reaction.

The shop was mostly empty. Fabric was nowhere to be seen. All the bits and bobs that were usually scattered on the long table were gone. The chairs were stacked on top of each other as best as they could and sat in the corner of the room.

Virgil leaned against the table and held his smile until a thought hit him. “Hey Princey, aren’t you supposed to be training?”

Roman turned to Virgil with his brows knit together and a tight lipped mouth. “Virgil… It's-…Today's our anniversary.”

Arms buckling against the table, Virgil attempted to keep his footing. _It- It's… How many days- How_ long _ago did-_

The older boy spoke again. “I… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…” He trailed off.

_You shouldn't have what? Told me that it’s been days? And that I didn't even realise that so much time passed?_

“Virgil, do you-” Roman paused, chewing his bottom lip, “I'm here if you need me.”

He almost laughed. Virgil built up a smile again. “So, Princey, what did you have planned for our _decade-ant_ anniversary?” He attempted to derail the conversation before he pushed too much.

“No,” Roman said, “We are _not_ going to- Virgil, we need to _talk_ about this. Are you- How are you feeling?”

“Roman, I'm _fine_. See? I'm using your name, so you know that I'm serious,” he insisted.

Roman frowned. He stepped closer to Virgil. “Just… Just tell me, Verge. I know that- I mean, I could see that you cared- _care_ about your father. You can tell me-”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I'm fine? I grieved, I mourned, and now I'm _fine.”_ Virgil managed to keep the edge away from his voice, instead employing a playful tone. “Roman, honestly, you don't-”

“Fucking stop with the ‘I'm fine’s!” Roman shouted, making Virgil freeze. Then, with barely concealed rage, “ _I know when you're bullshitting, Virgil._ ”

Virgil didn't know how to react.

Roman dropped his shoulders and inhaled deeply. He reached out to hold Virgil's arms but drew back before the tailor could flinch. “I… I'm sorry. Again. I just- _You never tell me._  And- and you don't _have_ to and I can't force it out of you but I- _I'm right here._  I- I don't know why you don't tell me. I just want to help, Verge. But I can't do that if- if you don't tell me.”

Virgil bit the inside of his cheeks. He took his weight off of his arms and crossed them over his torso. Any time Roman reached out or shifted even the slightest bit closer, Virgil would side step away and curl into himself as best he could while standing.

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor tore through the tension as Virgil's head whipped towards the folding screen.

“Don't follow me,” he ordered Roman with false confidence.

Virgil slipped through the gap left by the opened panel and walked to his mother, who was slowly pushing her chair in.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“Emmy, the sweet lady, wanted to chat with me over some tea and biscuits,” she explained, a soft smile on her face.

“Emmy?” Just as Virgil said that, a knock on the back door was heard.

“Ooh, speak of the devil. That should be her.”

“Wait. I'll get it, Mother. I want to speak with Emmy for a bit.” He made for the door, opening it enough to slip through then closed it behind him.

“Oh! Why, hello Virgil,” Emmy greeted.

“Emmy, uh, hi. Can I ask you something?” he asked, cutting to the chase.

Her face darkened at his tone though her voice remained sweet. “Yes?”

“Did you agree to have tea with my mother?”

“Well, yes, I _am_ here to fetch her, after all.”

“Why?”

“Virgil, I care about your mother,” she said, her voice rang sharp through his ears, “I want to spend some time with her; check in on her, make sure she's alright. All things a friend would do.”

He tried not to flinch at the underlying accusation in her words. _All things a friend would do._ Of course she’d been mourning too. And what had he done? Nothing a friend should have done, that's for sure.

“Em, I'm sorry-”

“No. That is _not_ what I meant, my boy. You always-,” she inhaled through her teeth, “Virgil, my dearest boy, you look for the bad in my words but that-,” she paused, closing her eyes in thought of her next words.

Virgil held his breath.

“Virgil, I care about both of you. So much. I just thought that I should check in on your mother,” she waited before adding, “And so that you'd have time to yourself.”

His face morphed into one of confusion and surprise. “Em, I'm fine.”

“I… I don't doubt that, Virgil. But, I just… You've been taking care of your mother for days on end. You need a break. Let me look after her for one evening.”

Virgil looked to the ground, lightly wringing his hands. His feet didn't stop fidgeting as he fought with himself mentally. When he looked up again, he made no effort to brush away the hair from his eyes.

If Emmy noticed, she didn't react.

He exhaled through his nose, squaring his shoulders. “Alright, Em. Thank you.”

The smile she gave was sympathetic. He wanted to hate it.

After a brief greeting with his mother, the two ladies left the house with smiles on their faces.

Virgil stood in the kitchen, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists. He was alone. For the first time since… what happened, he was alone.

In every second that had passed since that day, he'd been telling himself to hold back, to stay calm, to be in the present for his mother. Yet…

He only felt cold. Colder.

He couldn't remember what he was holding himself back from. Crying? Screaming?

Fading?

Why did he feel the need to hold back? Where were the emotions that threatened to burst from the seams?

Virgil blinked a few times. He focused on his boots. The sight of them didn't make him choke up.

He hugged himself, gripping at his arms so hard that he almost ripped his sleeves.

Scratch that- he _did_ rip his sleeves. That didn't make him loosen his grip though. Instead, he dug his nails into his skin, only stopping when he felt blood drip onto his fingers.

Looking at the ripped fabric bunched up in his hands, he pressed his lips together. Virgil dragged himself to the shop to grab a needle and thread to patch up his tunic.

He found Roman standing in the exact same place where he left him. He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you still here?”

Roman shifted his footing. “You didn't say I had to leave.”

Virgil set his jaw and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly through his nose.

“Verge… Are you- How are you feeling?” Roman tried for conversation.

That was the breaking point.

“You know what, Roman? You _really_ want to know how I'm feeling?”

His friend was taken aback at his sarcastic tone. “I- _What_?”

The tailor continued, ignoring Roman’s shock. “Well, I’ll tell you _exactly_ how I feel: _I. Don't. Know._ ”

Roman opened his mouth but no words came out.

“I have _no clue_ how I'm feeling, Roman. _I don't know._  I don't. All this time, I told myself to _“keep it in, Virgil”_ because I _needed to_ \- _for my mother._ But now?” Virgil let out a cynical laugh, growing more manic by the second. “I don't even know what I was keeping in! _I can't remember._ What was it that made me push _everything_ down deep- _so deep_ \- that I _can't even remember_ what I'm _supposed_ to be feeling?

“So ask me again: How am I feeling? I don't know! You want me to stop saying “I'm fine”? Well, I don't have an answer besides that! So _there_ ! I don't know, Roman, okay? I don't know. I don't _fucking_ know! I'm confused and conflicted and _frustrated_ because I _know_ I should feel something- _anything_ \- but I- _Just. Can't._ ”

Virgil’s voice became small after he took a deep breath. “I- I can't. All I feel is empty and numb and I _know_ something should be there but it's just- _not._ It's not there, and I don't know what to do. What I _should_ do. I don't… I don't know.”

Roman remained silent.

The tailor ran a hand through his hair, inhaling deeply through his nose, as he attempted to regain his composure. With his hair pushed back, his eyes were visible, the circles under them darker than ever. He crossed his arms over his chest and his shoulders sagged.

Virgil’s eyes darted around the shop, looking impossibly clean. “You want to know something else? I haven't slept. Not even a nap. Not a _wink_ of sleep. Not since that day. Not since what happened. I don't think my mother does either. She might've gotten a bit of rest every so often but I doubt she's gotten a full night’s sleep.

“And she knows that I know. I know that she knows about me. We _both_ know that we're not sleeping. But we also know that we can't fix it. No matter what. We can't. So we're now both insomniacs,” Virgil continued, not letting Roman get a single word in.

“But I can’t stand not doing anything; you know that. I can't. I have to do _something._ So you know what I do? I clean. I've cleaned and cleaned and _cleaned_ every _goddamn_ corner of this house. Clean. New. No little things for my mother to obsess over if she- if she-” He cut himself off.

A long stretch of silence passed until Roman spoke. “I- I don't know what I should say.”

“Then don't say anything,” Virgil snapped. Eyes wide at his own reaction, he took back his words. “No, wait, I'm sorry, I- I just…” He swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing.

“There's… There's one place I didn't clean. Haven't even touched the door.” He let out a laugh that reeked of self deprecation. “I… It's dumb. I know it is. The fact that I can't even- I can't just- _open_ the door is… pathetic.”

“It's not- It's not pathetic,” Roman spoke again, “It's human. Ver- Virgil, you might have… Alright, maybe you didn't let yourself grieve because of your mother but maybe you… Maybe your mind is grieving by not opening that door?” He cringed at his own attempt at comfort.

Virgil thought likewise. He managed a small, albeit forced, smile. “You were never the best at comforting people, huh, Princey?”

“I- I know. I'm trying,” he replied, not dropping his serious tone.

Another lapse of silence fell over them.

The older boy finally spoke. “Is there… Is there anything you wanted to do? When your mother was here? When you didn't- _couldn't_ do anything?”

Virgil remained unspeaking long enough for tension to fill the room again. His gaze was trained to the floor as he rolled his lips between his teeth.

“I…,” he trailed off.

He balled up his fists and looked up to meet Roman's eyes. Virgil nodded before he turned to the folding screen and walked through the small gap. Roman tailed behind him a small distance apart.

Virgil managed to walk a few steps before freezing entirely. He sensed more than heard Roman approach closer.

The younger boy's eyes were glued to the door that lay less than a metre away. He forced his hand up but then it stopped and hovered over the handle.

“Do you want me to…?” Roman asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Squaring his shoulders, Virgil shook his head. “No. I- _I_ have to do this.”

He turned the handle and pushed open the door, his hand recoiling over his chest once the door swung open from momentum.

Virgil was expecting to look away immediately, or faint, or run away upon opening the door. He only stood there, looking into the room.

It had been untouched for days. Everything was kept in its place. Every scrap piece of leather; every brush that was half coated in dried shoe shine; every tool lay where they were last left. Untouched.

A thin layer of dust could be seen along the tabletop. Pairs of damaged and battered shoes were lined up against the back wall; his father always kept them, fixed them up, and would give them out for free to those who needed it.

Slowly, Virgil stepped into the room. He looked around with wide eyes, attempting to keep the state of the workshop ingrained into his memory. The state his father left it in.

He stopped in the centre of the room, staring at a folded piece of parchment that lay on the table. Virgil picked it up cautiously and almost dropped it when he read the two words on it.

_To Virgil_

He heard Roman shuffle into the room, still standing slightly away from Virgil.

Virgil scanned the letter, not able to read it fully as his eyes filled with tears. He pressed the parchment to his chest, staggering back slightly.

He fell to the floor, legs in an awkward position as he cried. A warm body placed itself next to him and wrapped an arm around him. Virgil buried his face into Roman's chest, staining the sash with tears.

“I- I- I don't re-remember if I- if I told him that I love- that I loved him,” Virgil managed through hiccups.

Roman rubbed his hand up and down Virgil's arm. “I'm here, Verge. I'm right here. It's alright.”

The two boys lay on the floor, one curled into the other, for what seemed like hours; Roman whispering words that Virgil didn't hear as the broken boy cried out everything he'd been holding back.

\---

_To Virgil_

 

_My dear boy,_

_As you are well aware, I am a sickly man. Because of this, I decided that I would write you a letter for you to read after my passing. Every season, I write a new letter to say goodbye to you, my growing son. This is my seventh letter._

_I began writing these letters when I realised a change in your demeanor. At the time, I could not find a reason for this change but as of now, I have come to believe that you wanted to, how did you phrase it? Have some “father-son bonding time”?_

_I will tell you now, that you certainly achieved that._

_Virgil, I know of your… worries._

_Even when you were a young boy, you always hid away from me and your mother if you felt as if you had disappointed us somehow. You would hide in the store cupboard, behind your mother’s rolls of cloth. It was the place you would go to when you were upset with yourself too._

_Especially when you couldn’t mould the shoes right._

_I never blamed you for that, my boy. I never minded that you didn’t take after me. I would never hold that against you._

_I’m sorry that you felt so guilty. That you felt like you owed me something. I assure you, you didn’t._

_Virgil, I want you to know and remember that I love you. With all my heart._

_I love you so much, Virgil._ So much.

_\- Theo Moore, your father_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating sooner.

_ Happy Birthday. Woo. _

Not making any effort to get up, he stared at the bare wall as he lay on his side. Virgil had expected to stay awake all through the night, swimming in thoughts and doubts but he'd fallen asleep quite easily the night before.

He knew how the day would pan out.

His mother would tell him how her sweet boy was  _ “A man now!” _ , then she'd carry out a gift of some kind that his parents had saved for his eighteenth birthday. She'd say,  _ “Your father wanted you to have this.”  _ and maybe,  _ “He'd be so proud to see his son grow into a young man.” _

Though he wondered if either of them would be able to mention his father only a few months after his passing.

With Roman, there were two possibilities:

One: he'd have prepared a surprise for Virgil by first light. A cake, perhaps? Definitely something from the baker’s shop. The three of them would enjoy the food Roman had brought, then Virgil's mother would shove them out of the door and force them to spend a day out.

Or two, the more likely possibility: He and his mother would be in the middle of breakfast when Roman would barge in through the door, probably spewing apologies without any intent of stopping.  _ “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I woke up late! Happy Birthday, Verge!” _ His friend would probably be wearing his tunic backwards, and a bird's nest would be in place of his hair. Roman would still be wearing the red sash though.

Virgil was willing to admit that the corner of his mouth quirked up at the thought. Shifting his gaze to the window panels, he saw a sliver of red light through the gaps.

Groaning as he forced himself out of bed, he blindly groped around the floor for his cloak. Feeling surprisingly smooth fabric, he blinked and focused on what he had touched.

At first he thought that the early morning light was tinting everything red, but he soon realised that the  _ fabric _ was red.

_ Roman? _

He wracked his brain, trying to remember if Roman had slept over the night before. He came up empty.

A sudden breeze seeped through the cracks of his window, throwing him out of his thoughts. Shivering, he took the sash and wrapped it around his shoulders to shield himself from the cold early morning air.

Virgil carefully walked through the hallway with squinted eyes, trying to make out anything in the dark. He heard shuffling noises coming from the kitchen. Keeping alert, he sneaked towards the noise.

He leaned into the kitchen, scanning the area. More light shone into the room, which revealed a dark, hooded figure hunched over the dining table.

Just then, a window panel had creaked open from a strong gust of wind. The sound caused the figure to turn abruptly, immediately finding Virgil in their sights.

Before the tailor could scream for help, he recognised the figure.

“Roman?”

It took a bit of staring to identify his friend but it was definitely him. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were red, shadowed with eyebags that could almost rival Virgil's. Roman's shoulders were hunched forward which, when paired up with the fact that he was wearing Virgil’s cloak with its hood up, made him look very much like a witch.

A smile made its way to the captain's face. “Hi Virgil,” he said, drawing out each word.

“What- Just-  _ What _ ?” Virgil asked, his face stuck in an emotion between confused and horrified.

Roman's bloodshot eyes widened, his back straightening out as he cleared his throat. “Oh, well, you see, it's quite a funny story. So I had this surprise planned-”

_ So, it was possibility one. _

“-but you see, I was just so  _ worried _ that I wouldn't wake up in time.” Roman gave a forced laugh. “ _ So _ what I did was, uh, I just came over and slept for a bit, I mean, I can't be late if I'm already here, right? Ha-ha!

“But I just _could not_ sleep; I needed your birthday to be perfect! And then I remembered that I’d ordered something from the baker’s shop! I _had_ to get it on time. So then I took your cloak because _dear Lord Almighty_ _it is cold out_.

“And  _ then _ I waited outside of the baker’s shop all night. The baker found me sitting there just before first light and looked at me as if he saw a ghost!”

Virgil didn't blame the baker. He's surprised that the man even lived after seeing Roman looking like he did.

“Anyway, the man gave me my cake along with some free pastries because- and I quote  _ “You're in a right state, my boy” _ and, well, now I'm here. Taa-daa! Happy Birthday, Verge!”

Roman's expression was manic; eyes wide and mouth stretched in what he believed to be a smile but looked more like he was baring his teeth.

Virgil attempted and failed to hold back a grimace. “Hey Princey, maybe you should, uh- maybe a nap would be good right now.”

His friend almost looked offended. “ _ Now _ ? It's your birthday! I am not sleeping until we celebrate it!”

“Alright, but how about we just-” He took his friend by the shoulders and began to steer him out of the kitchen into his room. “Let's get you out of these clothes and into some clean ones, eh?”

Roman begrudgingly agreed, sitting on the floor where Virgil told him to wait while the tailor searched for a clean tunic and trousers. Just as Virgil hoped, when he returned, he found his friend snoring loudly having fallen asleep while leaning against the wall. With much difficulty, he moved his friend to his bed and pulled a blanket over him.

Virgil crossed his arms over his chest, leaning on the doorframe as he watched his friend. It didn't take long for the tailor to move his gaze to a door down the hallway.

He walked to his father’s workshop, calmer than he had been in those months ago. Leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, he sat on a stool tucked next to the workbench.

Cradling one hand in the other, Virgil closed his eyes as his brows knit together. He worked his thumb into the palm of his left hand.

“Hey Pa.”

Everything stilled. Not even a timely gust of wind blew.

“You always wanted me to call you that, remember? You said that ‘Father’ sounded too formal. Still, ‘Pa’ sounds weird, so…” He trailed off.

“It's my birthday today, Father. Eighteen. I wish-”

He stopped himself.

“I- I know that you looked forward to this.” He let out a small chuckle. “More than I ever did, really. Though I never really knew why.”

Virgil sat in silence for a while. He looked to the window, where more light shone through the gaps. The wind was less of a biting cold and more of a cool morning breeze.

“I still miss you. Always will.”

He paused.

“I love you.”

\---

“Happy Birthday, Virgil.”

He smiled as he welcomed his mother's embrace. When they released the tight hug, she urged him to sit. She placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and cupped his face in her hands. A motherly smile shone down on Virgil as she played with his overgrown hair.

“My boy.”

Her eyes were glassy.

“Your father would be  _ so proud _ if he could see you now, Virgil.  _ So proud. _ ” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Virgil wasn't sure what there was to be proud of. Still, he smiled up at her. He was pulled into another embrace where his head was tucked under her chin.

“ _ Augh _ , my little boy is a man now… Why are you growing so fast? Stop growing.” She released the embrace, wiping away the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

He laughed heartily, his mother following suit shortly after. A comfortable silence fell over them. Suddenly, a thought dawned on Virgil.

“Mother, I should tell you that Roman-”

“Virgil! Did you give me a sleeping tonic, you sneaky scoun-  _ Hi _ ,” the word was dragged out, “Lilian, lovely morning today isn't it? Perfect for dear Virgil’s birthday wouldn't you say?” Roman quickly recovered upon realising that he'd interrupted a moment between the two tailors.

Roman’s hands were patting down his hair in a failed attempt to tame it from the mess it was earlier that morning. However, his eyes had lost their red tinge and he didn't look like he was about to pass out at any second.

She chuckled softly. “Yes. Quite, Roman. It  _ is _ a very lovely day.”

The captain clapped his hands together. “I bought some food from the baker’s shop, so shall we?”

\---

It was mid-morning when the three of them had finished the decadent breakfast and began wrapping the leftover pastries to be eaten later in the evening.

Virgil's mother and Roman had taken to reminiscing and subsequently embarrassing Virgil to the point where his face was red.

His mother was sobering up from raucous laughter, and fanned herself before starting again. “Do you remember when he-”

A knock at the shop door provided the perfect opportunity for Virgil as he immediately stood from his seat, announcing that he'd greet whoever it was.

Well… ‘greet’. He'd kindly inform them that the shop was open at noon.

_ Hi, the shop's closed this morning but you can come later today. Hi, the shop’s closed this morning but you can come later today, _ Virgil rehearsed in his head.

“Hi, the shop’s closed this morning but-” He stopped.

A familiar dark-haired guard stood awkwardly at the door. “Hi. Happy Birthday.”

Before Virgil could respond, Jason spoke again. “So I haven't had the chance to properly apologise yet and I  _ am set on doing it _ .

“Virgil, I am so sorry for how I treated you when we were younger- There is  _ no _ excuse to justify my actions. So- If you could- Please accept this gift. A-as a token of apology and as a birthday present.” He held out a small package wrapped in parchment.

The moment Virgil took the package out of his hands, Jason turned away and almost marched off.

“Wait!” Virgil called out, not wanting to leave things on such a one-sided conversation.

Jason abruptly stopped and half-turned to face the tailor.

Virgil sighed heavily. “I can't- Look, Jason- It- It's not easy to forgive  _ everything _ . Considering everything you did, I- I can't say that I  _ completely _ forgive you but… Thank you. For apologising. And for the gift. Have a good day, uh… guarding?” His expression was between a smile and a grimace.

Jason looked surprised at Virgil's half-forgiveness but gave a small grin anyway before walking away briskly.

Shutting the door behind him and tucking the gift under his arm, Virgil returned to the kitchen. Their vivid retelling of embarrassing stories had seemed to be on hold while he left.

His mother was the first to ask. “Who was it?”

“Surprisingly enough, it was Jason.”

Roman choked on his drink. “ _ Jason _ ?!?”

Virgil ignored the disbelief in his tone. “Yeah, he dropped by to apologise and even gave me a present.” He placed the package delicately on the table.

His friend immediately snatched it up and began examining it. “You can't just- It- He- What if it's a trick?!?”

The tailor rolled his eyes. “Roman, come  _ on _ . People can learn, people can change. He's - what? - nearly twenty-one  _ and  _ a guard? I'm sure he's had to have changed  _ a bit _ . Besides, I made it clear that I haven't forgiven him completely, and who am I to reject a gift?” He pried said gift out of Roman's grabby hands.

Roman huffed.

“Roman, if Virgil wants to give him a chance, let him. If anything, you could order him around since you  _ are _ a commanding officer,” Lilian noted playfully.

Virgil's eyes widened in horror as Roman’s lit up.

“Don't start giving him ideas-’

“That is  _ brilliant _ !”

Soon, her own expression matched her son's. “Roman, sweetie, I wasn't  _ actually  _ proposing that you abuse your position as revenge for-”

It was too late. Roman rubbed his hands together as his scheming began. His mouth was curled into a smile that Virgil would have laughed at in any other context.

Virgil ripped open the present. “Oh, would you look at that! No tricks! An actual gift! See, there's thread and needles and… Some _really_ nice buttons- Holy cow, where'd he get those? They've got _designs_ on them and- I mean, see! Just a _harmless_ _present._ ”

Even Virgil's mother began inspecting the  buttons, muttering comments on the craftsmanship. Roman wasn't listening.

“Nope. I'm set. My plan will be in motion. He'll be on door duty for  _ months _ !”

“No! Wait-  _ what _ ?”

“Door duty! The most boring patrol you can do! He’ll go insane from standing there for no reason!”

“... Is- Is this some kind of guard… thing?”

Virgil's mother took over. “That sounds horrendous, Roman. He’ll be suffering.” Her tone was serious.

The laugh that erupted out of Roman was malicious. “ _ Exactly. _ ”

_ Well, Jason better thank the saints that Roman is… creative with his revenge. _

\---

Jason did not thank the saints. Door duty was horrible. Period.


	8. Chapter 8

The Queen was dead.

Bells rang throughout the kingdom, signalling the fall of their leader of so many years.

Whether it was a recent development was uncertain, it was highly likely that the Council would conceal that information until they were certain the situation was under control. On the other hand, Virgil was somewhat confident that Thomas would want his people to know the truth but he doubted that he was in any state to command the Council.

Not long after the bells had rang, squires were sent across the kingdom to announce the... _‘event’._ The Queen had reportedly passed in her sleep; to their knowledge, no ill will was threatened upon Her Majesty as there were no signs of foul play.

The report didn't stop rumors sprouting up though. Some claimed there _was_ in fact foul play in hand within the Council; others theorised that _magic_ was involved. There were a few cruel people who voiced the possibility that the _Crown Prince Thomas Sanders_ himself had murdered his own mother in an attempt to inherit the throne while he was of prime age.

Despite the fact that Virgil - being a lowly peasant - had not spent all that much time around the Crown Prince, he was still fairly certain that Thomas wouldn't kill for such a horrible motive. He doubted that the prince was capable of killing a rabbit on a hunt without feeling guilty.

Whatever the situation truly was, one fact remained: the Queen was dead.

Which meant that the Crown Prince Thomas Sanders would no longer be Crown Prince.

Following the monotone recitation of Her Majesty’s passing, the squire announced the coronation of Thomas as High King which was to happen in three days time.

 _Cruel. Giving such a short time to grieve. To push him into a position right after his mother passed. If it_ is _a recent happening._

Looking to his mother, it was quite clear that she was distressed. She'd properly spoken with Her Majesty only once, yet it had left a big impact on her. Virgil knew that she mourned not only for the leader of their kingdom but also for the kind and fair person she had shown herself to be.

\---

The sun shined brightly that day. A good omen from the saints to the palace denizens; a day of sunburn for the commoners.

Everyone was gathered from the courtyard of the palace to the streets of the outlying village, to witness the coronation of the new High King. Well, witness His Majesty wearing the crown as he graced everyone with his presence.

Only a select few were to see the ceremony from beginning to end in the great hall of the castle. That which included Roman. He _was_ a captain, after all.

Virgil wondered if Roman knew the details of the Queen’s death. Or did his position mean nothing compared to the legion of knights and members of the Council?

It wasn't as if Roman was special in their eyes. He was just another captain, out of a dozen maybe, and not even the youngest of his kind. That particular award went to a fellow named Ekmen, only fifteen when given the position of captain… to a team of squires half his age.

Nonetheless, Roman wasn't exactly a person of any interest to the Council, meaning he was probably given the bare bones of information similar to what the commoners received.

Virgil was rudely ripped out of his thoughts as at that moment, the trumpets blared and large doors were slowly pulled open by a pair if guards. Thom- _His Majesty_ walked out onto a platform that jutted out of one of the upper levels of the castle. The High King was tailed by Logan, Patton, and two knights; all four of whom carefully stepped around the long cape he wore.

Logan had his usual stoic face: brows brought down and his mouth very nearly a straight line. The two knights had serious expressions, but allowed small smiles of pride for the new king.

Patton was near unrecognisable. He wore a uniform similar to Royal Advisor’s but was lacking the lengths of fabric that Logan’s had. The face he held when he brought the royal family to their shop years ago had surfaced again; no hint of the joyful man could be seen.

The High King himself radiated glory. His expression was one of trained neutrality, his head held high while holding a sceptre in one hand and the pommel of a sword in the other. Logan held up a hand, the sound of trumpets stopping not long after. The hand fell, and was clasped behind his back.

“With the end of one prosperous reign under the Queen,” Logan began. Thomas didn't so much as flinch. “We move forward into a new era, led by His Majesty, the High King Thomas Sanders.”

Patton raised a fist. “ _Long live the King_!”

A sea of raised fists followed, as an unsynchronised chorus shouted, “ _Long live the King_!”

Virgil could see the tension visibly leave the king’s body, exhaling as his shoulders dropped.

The tailor found that he wasn't worried of the future under Thomas’ reign.

\---

Virgil found himself sitting at the base of their tree after the coronation had ended. Clouds had mercifully covered the sun from burning his skin to redness.

He let his thoughts wander.

 _Losing a parent… Would you_ want _to have hundreds grieve with you?_

_Have hundreds grieve for the loss of a queen? When you are grieving for the loss of a mother?_

_…_

_Patton was right. Remembering someone for… the person they were…_

_I hope he's had time. Time to himself._

_To think. To sort his thoughts._

“Do you have room for another?”

Virgil's eyes snapped open.

Roman stood before him, his expression unsure. He wore his full captain’s uniform, with the collar buttons undone. The red sash was loosely wrapped around his waist.

Virgil smiled, then tapped his chin and contorted his face into one of scrutiny. “Mmm- No. I'm afraid this spot’s taken.”

The captain looked ready to leave.

“Oh, come- Princey, I was joking.” Virgil shifted to slightly, and patted the ground next to him to emphasise the point.

“You just… You looked like you had a lot on your mind,” he said, taking his place next to the tailor.

“I did. I do.”

Roman nudged his friend’s shoulder. “And that is…?”

“... I feel for Thomas. I mean, I've just been thinking about it a lot since…” Virgil trailed off.

“The anniversary was last week, right?” the captain asked.

He nodded in response; not trusting his voice.

 _“The anniversary”_ no longer referred to their friendship. The two dates were too close for comfort, and Roman insisted that they didn't have to celebrate like they usually did.

Virgil was initially against the idea, telling his friend that it was tradition at that point. But by the time their eleventh year anniversary rolled around, Virgil couldn't even bring himself to open up the shop. His mother didn't push for work either.

It was a silent agreement that they wouldn't celebrate anymore.

Though, that didn't mean Virgil neglected it completely.

“Happy thirteenth anniversary of friendship, Princey.” Virgil gave a small smile.

Roman hesitantly returned it with his own. “So, how do you feel about the coronation? New leader now.” He leaned back against the tree.

“I think the Council would accuse me of treason for saying anything about _that_ ,” he ended with a laugh.

Even Roman huffed out a laugh.

“Did you enjoy the coronation? In the Great Hall,” Virgil asked. “To see the king so close.”

His friend fell silent for a moment. “It… Honestly? The glamour of seeing royalty wears off if you've been there long enough.”

The tailor gasped. “ _Roman,_ are you saying that you _don't_ obsess over royalty anymore?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “ _Never._ I'm only saying that I don't exactly… I'm not phased by _seeing_ them. If they were ever to _speak_ to me-” He clutched his chest, and fell into Virgil's lap as if he fainted.

The two burst into laughter.

They spent the rest of the daylight talking about Roman's job, how the business was going, and things that probably didn't matter. It was familiar and comforting for both of them.

\---

Virgil and his mother were working on a particularly heavy order while Roman busied himself by arranging their mess of a worktable into something that resembled orderly.

_“Roman, you don't have to-”_

_“I want to.”_

_“It's your_ day off _, you should be relaxing.”_

_“Well, I feel relaxed around you two, so ha! Now let me help you as I spend my day off.”_

When there was a knock at the door, Roman rushed to open it.

“Good day! Please, come in, and we can-” His greeting was cut short when a hooded figure pushed past Roman into the shop.

It didn't take a genius to realise who it was when Patton and Logan strode in after the stranger.

Virgil's mother immediately stood and bowed at the hip. “Your Majesty.”

Virgil was about to do the same when the High King suddenly pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. He cradled his head in his hands, elbows propped up on the table.

“He's… He just needs someone right now,” Patton explained, his voice soft, “I thought that… Maybe you could help.”

Logan didn't try to make his presence known as he sat on the bench, and Virgil noticed that the shadows under his eyes were dark and heavy. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, but the creases between his brows remained.

Patton continued. “I'm sorry for popping in like this but… I felt like you-” He inhaled sharply. “You've experienced loss. He just needs someone to talk to. As a _person._ ”

Lillian quickly went from wide eyed to serious. Her shoulders squared and she nodded firmly. Taking a seat at the table, she hesitantly placed a hand on the king's forearm.

The younger tailor felt Roman slide up next to him.

“Should we leave?” his friend asked quietly.

“No, you- You can just do whatever you were doing. Right now, we are not affiliated with the palace or royalty in any way. We are _normal_ people,” Patton answered. There it was again: his serious face and voice.

He sat beside the Royal Advisor and whispered in his ear, Logan only responding with nods and the shake of his head.

Not believing Patton's words entirely, Virgil slowly sat back down and returned to his handiwork, keeping an ear on his mother's words.

Roman bit his lip before complying too.

“Your High-” Virgil heard his mother say, “ _Thomas,_ I know that… losing someone is painful. Tremendously so.”

Thomas laughed softly. “No kidding.” His voice was rough.

“Come now, child, take your hood down,” she urged.

Virgil sneaked a glance at the king when he heard rustling of fabric. He didn't look well, to say the least.

His eyes were red and swollen but his face was pale. A thin line was in place of his lips and his hair screamed _‘sleepless nights’._

“Oh, _child._ Alright, I will fetch some tea and we can have a long chat, alright Thomas? Virgil, dear, the shop is closed for the rest of day. Hang up a sign if you must.”

Virgil almost didn't hear her. He knew that face so well. He saw it almost everyday for months after his father’s passing. It was the face of his mother and himself for so long. It was the face of pain- of _aching pain_ from loss and guilt.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and quickly scribbled ‘CLOSED’ on a piece of parchment, nailing it to the door.

His mother returned from the kitchen with several mugs and a pot of tea.

Virgil tuned out their conversation, respecting their privacy. Instead, he walked over to the two older men. “You can rest in one of our rooms, if you'd like.”

Logan shook his head, mumbling. “That… Don't need it. Shouldn't… I just… I'm resting my eyes.”

Patton giggled softly, then turned to the young tailor. “Thank you for offering, Virgil.” Then, he brought a hand to his mouth, covering it from Logan's view. “He's not as good with words when he's tired,” he said in a hushed voice.

“M’not tired. M’jus- Resting my eyes,” he slurred.

Patton rubbed his arm. “Of course, dear. Is there anything you need?”

“Oh _stop_. M’not a child,” Logan argued, “But… Those tiny cakes would be nice.”

“The fruit-filled ones?”

“No,” he whined. _Logan whined._ “The ones with white dust.”

Patton stifled a laugh. “Alright, I'll get those real quick. Just rest.”

Logan didn't argue.

Turning to Roman and Virgil, he made for the door. “Why don't you two come along? I'll get something for you.”

Virgil glanced to his mother for a second, and Patton caught it.

“I think she'll be alright, Virgil. Might as well buy something for all of us.”

Roman squeezed his arm. _She's a bit preoccupied. It'll be fine._

The three of them left for the baker’s shop.

\---

“Sorry about dropping by so unexpected like that, Virgil. Everything’s been a bit hectic and I thought-”

The young tailor waved him off. “You don’t need to apologise, Patton. It's an honour that you thought to come to us at all.”

“So… What's happened?” Roman asked slowly. “I mean, other than… The loss.”

Patton chewed his lip and sighed heavily. “Damn Council. They insisted that Thomas take on the mantle of High King as soon as possible. I tried to convince them otherwise, but when Thomas agreed, they didn't spare me an ear.”

“And Logan? Did he say anything about it?” Roman asked.

“He tried. But we… We're advisors to the _royal family._ We don't have sway over the Council unless the Qu- _Thomas_ says so.”

Virgil interjected. “Wait, wait. Patton, you're a Royal Advisor? I thought-”

“The Queen appointed me as an advisor a few months before her passing,” he explained. A sad smile found its way to his face. “I think she knew that… That she would be gone soon. I think she wanted to make it official. Even before I had the title, she always asked for both mine and Logan’s opinion on certain things.”

No one spoke for a while.

“Thomas didn't have time to- to say goodbye. He shoved himself into duty. And… Well, he just- He broke. I was in the room with him. He was signing a few documents and then he just… collapsed.

“He told me how he felt like he didn't deserve to spare time to grieve, how he had to run a kingdom.” Patton paused. “He told me that he didn't know what he was doing.”

“When did this happen?” Roman asked.

The advisor’s face scrunched up in thought. “A few days ago… No, it… It was the day before yesterday. I didn't even notice how…”

“Time flew?” Virgil offered.

He responded with a shallow nod. “After that, I asked Logan if he could help. He did… He had a lot to do already, and to add that… I- I don't believe that he's slept for the past few days.”

“And you?” Roman asked the question in both of their minds.

Patton chuckled. “I- I'm just going where the wind takes me. One of us needs to function. I… I knew it would be me, in all honesty. Thomas needs to grieve and Logan has so much work to do… I need to be there for them.”

“Patton, are you sure that you… That you're alright?” the tailor asked.

“I truly am, believe it or not. I know how to deal with my emotions, and I got those sorted out as soon as I could. Logan and Thomas are… less skilled in properly handling their feelings.”

Virgil mentally scolded himself for being surprised at Patton's wisdom. After everything that the man had done, it shouldn't have been shocking anymore.

“I hope they have the cakes that Logan wants,” Patton thought aloud. Only then did Virgil realise they'd reached the baker’s.

Initially, neither Roman nor Virgil picked out desserts that Patton offered to buy for them but when the older man threatened to “ _shove pastries down their unwilling throats_ ”, the two happily chose their favourite baked goods from the shop.

\---

When they got back, Logan was soundly napping with his mouth open slightly while Thomas and Lillian seemed to be having a more casual talk.

“We brought pastries.” Patton shook the bag of carefully wrapped goods, smiling at the king.

He didn't look any better but at the very least, he seemed to be calmer. Thomas smiled back. “Thank you, Patton.” His voice was scratchy.

His gaze fell on the two youngest people in the room. “Hello again, Virgil. I apologise for how we stumbled in like this.”

Virgil looked to his mother, who didn't offer any words. “It- it really is no bother, Your-” His mother raised her brows. “Thomas.”

Thomas smirked at the correction. “Thank you again, it is much appreciated.” Focusing on Roman, he narrowed his eyes. “You are a guard, yes?”

Roman nodded, hands by his side and back straight. “Captain of the Palace Vicinity Unit, Your Highness.”

“Oh, don't- You don't need to do that,” Thomas almost winced.

The captain relaxed in his stance, his expression wary. “Yes, of course, I-” He cleared his throat. “I promise I won't speak a word of this to any of the guards… Thomas.”

His eyes widened. “Oh. I- That hadn't even crossed my mind… But- but thank you. Uh…” Thomas trailed off.

“Pryce,” he said.

At the same time, Virgil said, “He's Roman.”

“Yes, thank you, Roman.”

The captain looked like he was about to faint.

“Tiny cakes?” Logan was half conscious, timely as ever. He made grabbing motions at Patton next to him.

Virgil failed to stifle a laugh. So did Roman. As well as his mother. Everyone failed to hide their laughter, is what happened.


	9. Chapter 9

_ Roman Pryce, 21. _

_ Captain of the Guard, Palace Vicinity Unit. _

 

“Sir?” Varis leaned her head into the small room.

Roman looked up from his desk with an unamused face. “I really shouldn't have made that  _ “step in whenever you'd like”  _ rule because I feel like you abuse my kindness on that front.” He leaned forward in his chair. “So, what's Quinn’s latest failed attempt at courtship?”

She let herself in, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Har-har, sir. Though, this time is serious- a meeting has been called.”

“No, that can't be right. The meeting is later this week with the General-”

“A meeting with His Majesty, sir.”

Roman's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Varis didn't do much to hide her own nervousness.

“I- I am unsure of the details, sir, but you are required to be there within the hour,” she continued.

“I- Well- Varis, uh, thank you- Dismissed,” he stammered.

“Of course, Captain.” She left the room, the door behind her closed with a creak.

_Well._ _Isn't this just…_ splendid.

\---

On his way to the meeting room, Roman caught sight of another captain who seemed to be heading in the same direction.

_ Oh! Good. Good. It's not just me. _

“Captain Whey!” The older man turned at the sound of his name. “Good morning, Whey. I hope you don't mind my asking but what exactly is this meeting about?”

Whey’s eyes widened and a small smile broke across his face. “You were called in as well? Thank heavens, I thought I was the only one.”

Roman dropped his own hopeful grin. “So you…  _ don't _ know what this meeting is for?”

“I'm afraid not, Pryce,” he admitted, shaking his head.

The two walked to the meeting room, chatting lightly; both of them avoiding further questions of why the king had called upon measly captains.

His Majesty was already in the room by the time they got there, with Logan standing close by. Two other captains were in the room; one looked just about ready to burst out of the room from nerves and the other with an excited smile on his face.

Roman bowed, seemingly shocking Whey out of his frozen state as the older captain quickly followed.

“Good morning, Captains. Please, take a seat,” the king offered.

Roman sat beside the excited, young Captain Ekmen and chewed at his lip. When he looked up, he found Logan staring at him.

To his surprise, Logan mouthed to him,  _ “Don't worry.” _ He gave Roman a hint of a smile.

Not a long while later, the rest of the guards filed in, all of them fidgeting in one way or another.

“Captains, you may be wondering why I've called a meeting so suddenly,” the king spoke.

_ I'm wondering why you called a meeting  _ at all.

“This is part of a new initiative that starts today,” he continued, “I hope for a direct channel of communication between any leading officers and myself. Hopefully, this will deter any favouring and bias between levels of command. So, gentlemen, from today you will start reporting to me  _ directly. _ ”

All the captains at the table nodded, some more energetically than others.

The king smiled. “Splendid. Firstly, Captain Ekmen, are there any updates on the squires?”

The young captain shot up from his seat. “Yes, Your Highness! The squires have been…”

\---

After Ekmen’s long description of what was happening in his unit, a few other captains followed his example. For some, this made sense, such as the Scouting and Defense Unit. However, the captains of the Armoury Unit and  _ Crops and Farming Unit _ decided to do the same.

“... and so we end another year with a bountiful harvest, sire!” Captain Whey finally finished his report on the Northern fields. After his reports on the Southern and Western fields. It was a long report to say the least.

The High King looked like he very much regretted his decision to have  _ “direct communication channels”. _ He kept a smile that slowly but surely dropped after listening to every captain drone on about their unit.

And it wasn't an act to impress the king for the most part. The Armoury Unit may have had more to say this time around, but Whey and Ekmen regularly rambled for hours on end during meetings with the General.

“Thank you… Captain Whey.” The king forced a smile. “Captain Pryce, how is your unit? The… Palace Vicinity Unit?”

“Ah, yes, Your Majesty…” Roman hesitated for a moment. “Only a few stray rabbits and hares, nothing but a few more droppings to handle, sire.”

A moment passed before the king spoke again. “Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” He gave a small smile. “If I’m being honest, not much happens  _ around _ the palace, sire.”

Logan smirked and made a small noise of approval. Some captains were better at hiding their shock at the Royal Advisor’s actions than others.

The king nodded slowly. “Right then. Well, thank you, captains. I will be sure to inform you gentlemen of any future meetings in advance. You needn't worry about a sudden occasion such as today. Dismissed.”

Slowly, the captains stood from their seats, bowing to the king before leaving the room.

Roman stayed behind.

“My lord? If I may be so bold as to address you?” Roman asked cautiously.

“Hm? Oh, Captain Pryce- Of course,” he answered.

“You look tired, sire. Perhaps I should have warned you of the nature of some of our more enthusiastic captains,” he said in a joking tone.

The king barked out a laugh. “Yes, yes… They are quite… Wordy, aren't they?”

“Perhaps this initiative- The motive is honourable, sire however, I don't believe that it would lead to good outcomes in the long run. But of course, Your Highness, I shouldn't interject- I am just a captain, after all-” Roman rushed to add.

“No, no… I believe you are correct, Roman-”

_ He- He- He remembers my- _

“I  _ did _ advise against it, Thomas,” Logan added. He looked amused.

The king waved him off. “Yes, yes  _ “you told me so” _ and whatnot. Thank you, Roman. I appreciate the suggestion.”

The captain was wide eyed.

“Roman? Are you quite alright?”

He shook himself out of his trance. “Of- Of course, my lord. Think nothing of it. I- I must be on my way, sire, I do apologise.” Roman was already walking backwards towards the door, bowing slightly.

“Ah, yes, best not to keep you from your work. Um, dismissed.”

Roman was already out of the door.

_ HE REMEMBERS MY NAME? _

_ I SPOKE TO  _ THE KING.

_ HE  _ THANKED _ ME. _

_ I am ready for death. I will embrace it like a friend. This is all I've ever hoped for- _

“Sir!”

He felt a hard smack on the back of his head. Whipping around, he saw Varis with a wooden training sword.

“Ow! What was  _ that _ for?”

“You nearly ran into a hoard of squires who will practicing with  _ real swords. _ You're lucky I hit you with this one before they could think you were a training dummy.” She had a hand on her hip, the wooden sword balanced over her shoulder.

Roman looked behind him where there was a small crowd of nine-year-olds holding very real swords. They were blunted, though. They had to be. Unless Ekmen decided to change up the training regiment.

Rubbing the back of his head, he looked to the guard again. “You know, if I were any other captain, you'd be dead meat.”

“But you're not other captains and you wouldn't even dare.” She smirked. “Have a good day, sir!” Varis walked away, passing the wooden sword from one hand to another.

Roman wanted to argue but he knew she was right.

\---

The wind was cool but Roman knew that it would be biting cold soon enough. Snow would fall and his guards would be fighting over who got stuck with door duty. It would be especially draining because warmth from inside the palace would be just out of reach. Patrolling the perimeter wouldn't be too bad, at least you'd be able to walk and move your joints.

Roman tightened the sash around his waist as he looked around the grounds. He'd have to be wary of muddy areas when snowfall began and he wanted to commit where they were to his memory.

He heard distant chatter and slowed his walking.

“- and then they won't be able to resist my charms!”

“Quinn, you should really stop harassing the ladies that pass by. This is why you don't get front gate duty.” The voice belonged to Jason. Roman grit his teeth but kept his slow pace.

“What? Are you  _ jealous _ ?” Quinn teased.

“What exactly is there to be jealous of?”

“The fact that I get all these lovely maidens-”

A loud snort. “Quinn, you'll find that I'm not interested in-”

Roman stepped out from around the corner. The two immediately stopped their chatting. “Quinn. Ferhn.”

“Captain,” they said as they both stood a bit straighter.

Roman let a moment of silence pass. “You really should stop your advances, Quinn. I don't think that any amount of flirting can get you into a courtship.” He smirked.

Jason tried to stifle a laugh but Quinn heard it.

“Hey! I-”

“And Quinn? You're getting door duty starting now.”

“But- Sir-”

“Come with me, Ferhn,” Roman ordered as he started walking towards the door. He didn't bother hiding his smile at Quinn’s expense.

“I'm telling Varis about this!” Quinn shouted as Roman was already past the door.

Jason followed closely behind the captain, replying with, “You'll be digging your own grave if you tell her.” He shut the door on Quinn, who was pouting deeply. Jason snickered.

The two were left walking down the hall, the only sound being their footsteps. Tension filled the room to the point where you could see it.

“That was…” Jason cleared his throat. “Good one, Captain.”

Roman suddenly stopped and turned to the older guard. “Jason.” His brows were brought together.

“Captain?”

“I don't forgive you. Not one bit.” He found himself gripping onto the ends of the sash.

“Oh. We're doing this now. Okay. Right. So-” Jason stammered.

“But Virgil does.”

“Actually he doesn't but-”

“Can you-” Roman tightened the sash. “Look, I'm trying to say something and you keep interrupting, so can you just shut up for one second?”

Jason closed his mouth and held his lips between his teeth.

Roman took a deep breath. “Alright. I do not in any way forgive you for what you did to me  _ and _ Virgil when we were younger. Call me petty; I don't care. You hurt us. You hurt  _ him. _ And I- I don't-”

Another deep breath. “I just don't understand how he can think that you have even an ounce of good in you.”

Jason bit down on his lip, nodding firmly.

Roman sighed. “But… I will admit that you're a good guard. And even if  _ I _ don't trust you- Virgil does. In a small way. So, Jason: Truce?” He held out a hand.

The guard looked shocked but quickly took the hand and shook it firmly. “Yes. Truce. Yes, of course. Thank you, I- I promise that I've- I promise that I'll never hurt you or Virgil ever again.”

The captain allowed a small smile. “Alright. Alright. Come on now. Back to me being a captain and you being-”

“A loyal guard, serving under my leading officer. A- and the crown of course,” Jason finished.

Roman hummed in approval. He made his way to his small office, feeling slightly lighter than he had been over the past few years.

\---

The captain found himself taking a leisurely stroll around the palace again. He'd take the cool breeze any day he could get it before the harsh cold came.

Roman ventured to the wooded area behind the palace; it was the only thing that made the ‘Palace Vicinity Unit’ even somewhat required. What if there were bandits hiding in the trees?  _ (Never happened. Probably never will.) _

If someone found him, he'd go for the normal excuse that he was on patrol. If  _ Varis _ found him, his stroll wouldn't be so leisurely anymore.

As he came upon the pond, he found someone already sitting at it's edge. Roman noted his clothing - a habit gained from being around tailors for most of his life - which was simple. A servant, perhaps?

Roman creeped closer. “Excuse me, sir. I'd recommend not being around these parts for too long. The pond will be especially freezing now.”

The figure jolted at Roman's words and turned to face him.

“Oh!” Roman began backing away. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to intrude, I just-”

“Thomas.”

The captain hesitated. “Pardon?”

The king turned back to face the pond. “I'm Thomas now. Not the king. Not  _ “His Highness”. _ Just… Thomas.”

“Forgive me again, Your- Thomas, but I don't follow.” Roman began walking towards the king again.

“I am Thomas. Someone who is tired and still grieving.” His gaze was distant.

Thomas continued. “I do this. This is how I deal with my grief. That day that I- When I just…  _ spoke _ about… with that lovely woman - Lillian?- I… It was the most relieving experience.

“So here I am. Thinking. Just being Thomas. Not the king. Not the king,” he said quietly, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“But…” Roman almost stopped himself.  _ No. Say it. _ “Thomas. You  _ are _ the king.”

He tilted his head, looking at the captain with an uncaring face. “No. I'm not.”

Roman gripped onto his sash.  _ Just say it. _

“You are the High King Thomas Sanders. You are the king. But you are also Thomas. They are not parts of yourself that you can switch between. You are  _ both. _

“Holding everything in until you  _ “become Thomas” _ isn't- It will only harm you in the end. You must allow yourself to properly grieve, yes. However, you must still carry out your duties as king.

“It is your heart and mind that makes the truly good decisions for this kingdom. You cannot push aside who you are. You have to be both. Uh, sire.”

Thomas looked at him quizzically. “I  _ think _ I understand what you are trying to tell me, but your choice of words makes it difficult to understand.”

_ “You were never the best at comforting people, huh, Princey?” _

Roman gave a small smile. “Yes, I… I've been told that I'm not the best with my words in situations like these.”

The king got to his feet and brushed himself off. “I must… I must thank you again, Roman. I… I should speak to Patton.”

“It is an honour to speak with you, sire.” His throat felt tight at the recognition again.

Thomas placed a hand on Roman's shoulder. “I- Really, Roman. Thank you for looking out for me. It's… It's difficult to believe what Logan and Patton say after so long but… Thank you. I just needed a- a push.”

Roman bowed his head in answer, not trusting his voice.

He followed the king at a distance, under the pretence of keeping watch until he finally entered the building. Roman briskly jogged to the barracks, in hopes of convincing Varis to cover for him as he signed out early.

\---

Unfortunately, he could not sign out early. His plans of bombarding Virgil would have to be delayed due to unfavourable circumstances.

That being the fact that Varis refused to, quote  _ “cover for your sorry ass again”. _

\---

A few days had passed and Varis still wasn’t keen on covering for her captain. Roman found himself absentmindedly playing with the sash in his hands; winding and unwinding it around his fist. It was only when he heard a knock at the door did he quickly wrap the red sash around his waist again. He kept his grip on the ends.

“Come in,” he called.

“Ah, yes, lovely to see you again, Roman,” a kind voice spoke.

The captain shot out of his seat, bowing slightly. “Patton! I wasn't expecting you.”

Despite being an official Royal Advisor now, Patton still wore his usual garb, including the jacket he’d gotten from the Moore’s years ago.

“Well, I suppose it's  _ meant _ to be a surprise,” Patton teased, “You've been given an invitation from the king.”

Roman could have cut off circulation from how hard he tightened the sash around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was fun to write tbh. kinda helped since i was feeling pretty burnt out (i won't leave this hanging)
> 
> p.s. dont worry about the ocs, they wont matter much (or will they? dun dun dun)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New update (kinda, just read it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to stop writing this story. I'm sorry to the people who were so nice and commented extremely sweet things. I really, truly wanted to see it to completion but I just don't have the time or mind to properly write for this.
> 
> I _do_ have an idea of how this story progresses and, in fact, I've already written the end (I think it was the first thing part I wrote? Idk, but it's been heavily edited since.) 
> 
> Anyway, this final chapter will be a collection of the small snippets I have in my drafts. (The quality of which may vary.) Also, at the end I have some notes on what I wanted to write/change/add to the already published stuff.
> 
> Here we go!

******Chapter 10 [Unfinished]**

“Hello! Welcome to- Seriously? Look, you  _ do _ know that we have a back door, right?” Virgil grumbled upon seeing Logan at the shop’s door.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid I'm not sure where that door is,” Logan replied flatly, already walking in.

Virgil closed the door and dramatically turned to the man. “This house isn't the size of a palace! The back door isㄧ AT. THE. BACK!”

“Who was it, dear?” Virgil's mother called from within the living area.

“It's just Logan, Mother,” he called back.

Logan clicked his tongue but held a small smirk. “ _ ‘Just Logan’.  _ You used to have so much respect for me, Virgil. Where's that gone?”

The tailor looked at him with a raised brow. “Let’s see: I've seen you ask- No,  _ whine- _ ”

“We do  _ not _ speak of that day.”

Virgil rolled his eyes but smiled fondly at the memory.

His mother entered the room and Logan smiled. “Good to see you, Lady Moore. Your presence has been requested by His Majesty. As soon as possible.”

“O-oh.” The two tailors stared at each other with bulging eyes. Sure, having royalty visit more than once is already unbelievable but actually going to the  _ palace _ ?

“Lillian?” Logan asked.

Words spewed out of Virgil’s mouth. “Of course! Yes, we will. I mean- um-”

“What Virgil means to say is that we'd love to. We are honoured.”

The Royal Advisor smiled wider. “Lovely. We best be on our way now.”

\---

They took the servant's entrance which the tailors were silently thankful forㄧ they didn't want the attention of entering through the grand doors.

Logan led them up multiple flights of stairs of the servant’s stairway, which was far more tiring than he’d expected. Virgil sent mental kudos to the palace servants. They passed several alcoves and corridors until they reached the top of the staircase which only had one short hallway with a door at its end.

Logan knocked a simple sequence on it. The door opened not long after, revealing the High King himself.

“Ah, Logan, you're back,” he said. Thomas craned his neck over the advisor's shoulder and smiled. “I see you've brought the guests.”

“What have I told you about opening doors, Thomas? Always let Patton get the doors. It's protocol,” Logan said with a tired tone.

Thomas stepped aside, allowing the three to step into the room. “Patton's out to fetch our other guest. I suspected he'd have returned sooner, in truth.”

The two tailors scanned the room with wide eyes. Virgil had to admit that it was less extravagant than he would have anticipated.

Instead of polished marble walls, there was stone brick. Expecting to see tinted glass mosaics in place of windows, he found simple wooden panels to shield from harsh weather. Where he expected diamond studded crystal doors, there were large, metal reinforced wooden ones. There were two archwaysㄧ one leading to a room with a table piled with parchment and quills while the other had curtains hiding what was presumably the bedroom.

The room they stood in had a large round table with various pastries and fruits placed on it. Virgil's  mouth watered at the sight of them.

“Please, do take a seat.” Thomas immediately claimed the one stool out of the six mismatched  chairs at the table.

Logan pulled out a cushioned chair and gestured for Lillian to sit.

At the advisor's actions,Thomas shot up. “How rude of me!” Then he pulled out another chair, fairly fancy.

_ Too fancy,  _ Virgil didn't  voice out.

The king smiled brightly. “Here Virgil, sit.”

“Thank you,Your Highness but- I mean… Thomas?” Virgil said the name slowly.

“Either is perfectly fine, Virgil. Whichever is more comfortable for you.” His smile was still bright.

“Ah- Well then, uh- Your Majesty,” he looked down as he said that, “If you don't mind my asking, why have you invited us today?”

“Ah yes! We will be discussing that once our other guest arrives. For now, please, take a seat,” he urged.

Virgil looked to the table, his mother already seated and chatting with Logan who sat one chair apart from her. Thomas took his place on the stool to the right of Logan, across from his mother.

Hesitantly, Virgil sat on his mother's left, across from Logan.

A knock at the large doors in the same sequence Logan had tapped out earlier caught Virgil off his guard, leading to him nearly throwing a fruit basket across the room. All four of them turned to face the doors.

“Sorry for the delay! I was so sure that Roman had spontaneously went unconscious while standing when I told him of the invitation. He’s fine though! As is evident, since we’re here now.” Patton let himself in, which earned him a glare from Logan.

“I told you to wait for the signal to-”

“Why hello, Roman, my boy-”

“Logan, I believe the, uh,  _ ‘secret code _ ’ is enough security. You needn't-”

“Your Highness!” Roman bowed deeply at the waist. “It is an honour to be invited to have your company!”

Virgil loudly snorted at Roman's unwavering formality with Thomas. He quickly covered his mouth and turned to the king himself.

His eyes were soft and his smile was lopsided. “There is no need to bow, Roman. We are friends in this room,” Thomas said.

With only slight resistance and hesitation, he took a seat at the table between Logan and his mother.  Patton sat by the king's side.

“Lovely, now that we're all present- Oh, do feel free to take whatever food or drink you'd like.” Patton was already piling various pastries onto his plate, meanwhile Logan took a single sugar dusted cake. “As I was saying,

_ [The following conversation is Thomas informing them that he wants Roman as a knight, and that the three of them are welcome to visit the palace whenever they please. I was considering the thought that they would  _ **_live_ ** _ in the palace, but I didn't think that Lillian and Virgil would want to leave behind their little shop.] _   
  
  


**Jason becomes a guide**

“As Captain of the Palace Vicinity Unit and close second of the previous Captain Pryce, I was placed in charge of assigning you a personal guardㄧ a tour guide of sorts,” the woman spoke formally.

It was strange to say the least. Virgil's mother decided against exploring the castle grounds, instead choosing to speak with Thomas over tea.  _ That _ was a sentence he never thought he’d sayㄧ or, more accurately, think. He didn't know when His Majesty, the High King, became “Thomas” in his mind, but any lingering fear of being accused of disrespect was distinguished a few months prior.

So now Virgil was getting a personal guide. Or a guard. He wasn't entirely sure of how  _ that _ would pan out but the captain didn't seem deterred by the fact that a peasant was being assigned a guard.

“Alright,” was all Virgil could muster up at that point.

She nodded and strode past him to poke her head out of the door. He heard rustling followed by soft murmuring then the captain stepped back into the rom, leaving the door ajar.

“May I introduce you to-”

“Jason?” The familiar black hair was enough to identify the man. His face was calm but Virgil could see the tension in his jaw.

Virgil barely registered a twitch of the captain's mouth. “Ah. I see you are already familiar with each other, it will make things more convenient as you'll be comfortable around each other,” she noted.

Looking back at the guard, Jason seemed to think otherwise. Then, he voiced it out only a second later.

“Captain? A word?” Without confirmation he slid out of the room.

Another twitch of her mouth and she followed him out, mumbling, “Excuse us for just a minute.”

It was difficult not to eavesdropㄧ they sounded like they were standing right in front of the doors that they didn't bother to close. Still, Virgil was partly to blame as he leaned closer and strained his ears.

He couldn't catch their conversation untilㄧ

“- for your sake,” the woman spoke smoothly.

“ _ ‘For my sake _ ’? You knew- You  _ know _ that-” Jason's voice was frantic.

“ _ Jason, _ I'm speaking to you as a friend now. Not a captain. This will be good for you.” Her voice had an edge of pity.

“Well,  _ Varis, _ if you wanted to be a good friend, you would have told me  _ beforehand _ that  _ he- _ ”

“ _ Will you just- _ ” She exhaled loudly. “Will you please take this opportunity? Take this as a chance to- to… reconcile.”

“ _ ‘Reconcile’,  _ my  _ ass. _ I've only just gotten him to forgive me-”

“That was  _ years _ ago. You're essentially on speaking terms now. Only if you'd  _ actually try to talk to him. _ ” She sounded exasperated now.

“And why would I ever-”

“Ha! ‘Why’?  _ Why _ ? Because you never stop-” Another loud exhale. “Would you just- Take the damn position, Jason. That's an order.”

“But-”

“An  _ order, _ Ferhn.”

Silence, untilㄧ “Yes, Captain.”

Virgil almost tripped over himself as he scrambled as far away from the door as possible. He crossed his arms over his chest, then clasped them behind his back, then moved them to his front. The constant shifting of his hands continued as the guards walked back into the room.

“Sorry about that, Virgil. Might as well go through with introductions,” the captain said. She turned her gaze to Jason.

He held out his hand. “Jason Ferhn. At your service.”

The tailor took the hand with a tight grip and shook it firmly.  _ Are you scared of me? _ He wanted to ask. “Virgil Moore. I trust you won't guide me straight into a lake.” He chuckled lightly.

Jason blanched at that. “I would  _ never- _ ”

“I didn't- It- It was a joke, Jason.” Virgil interrupted him before the guard spewed out more apologies.

The captain's mouth twitched again but this time she let it grow into a smug grin.

Virgil was met with pursed lips and wide eyes. “Ah- Of course. Right.” Jason let go of his grip on the tailor's hand. He took a step back, falling into position next to the captain with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Well, Virgil, when you feel you need help, don't hesitate to call Ferhn. I'll ensure that he has no duties to attend to, if I can help it,” the captain informed him.

“Thank you, Captain. Honestly, this is more than I would  _ ever  _ have expected, so trulyㄧ thank you,” he replied, shoulders coming up to frame his neck.

She smiled. “Only the best for His Majesty’s guest.”

_ [Oooh, cryptic.] _

 

_ [Just kidding, I'm horrible at foreshadowing.] _   
  
  


**UHHH JASON N VIRGIL**

“And here's the courtyard. The knights train here most of the time. The squires-” He gestured to a patch of field a distance away. “Usually train over there. We don't want sharp objects and tiny children within a few metres of each other. As you can imagine,” Jason finished explaining.

Virgil hummed, allowing a small smile at the half joke.

“Hey, look! They're training nowㄧ the knights, I mean, not the squires. If the squires were training-” The guard shuddered.

He properly laughed at that. A flash of red caught Virgil's eye. “Do you think we could watch them?”

Jason slowed his walking, hesitant to answer. “I suppose we can. As long as we don't disrupt their training.”

“Virgil?” A voice called out between shallow breaths.

“Roman,” Virgil greeted with a small smile, deciding against a false salute. Would that be offensive to knights? He didn't want to find out.

“Is Jason being a good guide around the palace? If he's not, I can request-”

“He's been great, Roman. You don't need to worry.” Virgil turned to face said guard to be met with wide eyes.

“Alright then… Ferhn, has Virgil broken anything yet?” He teased.

Virgil spluttered. “I do  _ not _ just break things wherever I go!”

“Oh,  _ really _ -”

“Sir Roman, what are you doing?”

The knight turned around and shouted over his shoulder. “Just checking up on a guest! I'll get back to sparring soon, Sir Grant!”

Sir Grant nodded firmly before returning to his own training.

“Well, that's my cue. Hope you enjoy the rest of your time here, Verge.” Roman winked and jogged back towards the rest of the knights. The sash was wrapped around his waist, both ends tucked into itself.

Virgil kept the fact that he was more worried about the sash getting damaged than Roman to himself. He watched as his friend settled into a stance in front of another knight.

Jason didn't make any effort to continue the tour, seeing Virgil's interest in the knights’ sparring. Their movements seemed planned, rehearsed even. Suddenly, Roman struck his opponent who managed to sidestep it just in time. The back and forth of careful movements with a few surprise attacks continued.

The tailor knocked shoulders with Jason. “Do you know anyone who could beat Roman without breaking a sweat?”

“Captain Varis,” he answered without any hesitation. “She's not trained in any particular weapon but she could beat him to a pulp. I mean, I shouldn't speak down to any of the knights but-”

“I would  _ love _ to talk to her,” Virgil said with a devious smile.

Jason’s eyebrows knit together as he stared at him silently before snickering. “Oh, she'd love to talk to you too.”

_ [Originally, there was gonna be a chapter of little snippets of interactions between various characters. This is one of those snippets.] _

  
  


**Verge and Roman have a tussle or two**

A large set of doors faced him, a dull engraved plate hung above it which read:

‘KNIGHT’S QUARTERS’

Simple carvings of a two swords clashing bracketed the wording on each end. The sign was caged by two more plates which were in the shape of a shield with the Sanders’ crest easily identifiable on both.

He knocked the door once, only to be surprised that it creaked open with little force. Pushing the door further, he peered into the dimly lit corridor, the only light coming from torches placed sparsely down the hall.

“Hello?” Virgil called out, wincing at the echo it produced. “Is anyone in?” He waited for an answer that didn’t come. “I’ve come to search for Sir Roman Pryce?”

Still no answer.

Gingerly, Virgil closed the door behind him and took a torch from the wall. He went to light the adjacent torch but he only found an empty bracket where it should have been.

Taking an uneasy breath, he backed away and inspected the doors, walking back and forth from wall to wall. Fortunately, there were wooden planks with crudely carved names into them next to every door.

Eventually he found the one that read ㄧ  _ Pryce _ ㄧ which was more elegant than the rest. Understandable, since his family consisted of carpenters and woodworkers.

Virgil giggled softly at the obviously more scratchy wording of ㄧ  _ ROMAN _ ㄧ beside it.  _ One of the other knights, perhaps… _

As he knocked, he considered returning home before darkness fell. His knocking became more insistent when no one opened the door.

It was then that Virgil heard boisterous laughter and hearty conversation nearing. Virgil looked around for an alcove to duck into but to no avail. Instead, he pushed open Roman’s door and slid inside beforeㄧ

He heard loud creaking followed by the telltale thud of a door hitting the wall. Virgil scanned the room and briefly contemplated the injuries of jumping out of the window.

_ [After this, Roman and Virgil have an argument. It's not that dramatic but there were supposed to be more little disagreements and fights that build up to a lot of distrust between them. They're still friends until Roman gets the rose crown and starts lashing out at Virgil, saying that he never really cared and that Virgil laughed at his dream of being a prince.] _

 

 

**FFFF RANDOM SCENE W/JASON N MALIA**

Virgil dropped the baked goods on the counter just as the front door opened with the sound of a bell. A second later, the door from the kitchen flew open with a plume of white dust.

A girl stepped out, fanning away the cloud. The sound she was making was a horrifying mix between laughing and coughing. “Oh dear, oh gosh, I'm sorry- I just had this  _ huge _ mishap with the flour and-” She stopped her apologies and her wide smile disappeared.

“Malia, what-  _ what happened _ ?” A familiar rough voice that barely held back laughter said from behind the tailor.

Virgil whipped around to face the guard in full uniform. “Jason.” He meant for it to sound more chastising than it ended up being.

The older man’s smile fell slightly.

The three of them were silent, glancing from one another.

Malia sneezed, followed by a hacking cough. Laughter erupted from all of them, which only caused Malia to cough more. She closed the kitchen door behind her, brushing off the flour from her apron but completely unaware of the patches that covered her face.

Jason and Virgil looked at one another, more laughter bubbling just below the surface before Virgil took action. “Malia, you got a little-” He gestured to his own face.

“Oh!” She wiped at her cheek. “Did I get it?”

She had only smudged more flour over her cheek, which had apparently thrown Jason off the tipping point. He was crouching on the floor, slapping his leg with no intent of sobering up anytime soon.

Malia chose to ignore the guard in favour of attending to her customer. “So, Virgil, is this all?”

He chuckled. “You say that as if I don't buy your goods every other day.”

She shrugged, a smile on her face again. “I wouldn't know, my father never let me out of the kitchen after the…” She coughed into her arm. “Birthday incident.”

Virgil managed to hold back from laughing. Barely. “But that was…  _ years _ ago.”

Her only answer was another shrug. “I doubt he'll let me in the kitchen after he sees this though.” She snorted, gesturing to her own mess.

Jason began coughing from laughing so much and finally got to his feet. “What-” Cough. “What's the birthday incident?”

“Oh,  _ pshh _ , you don't need to know-”

“I harassed Roman with a cake and a declaration of love,” Malia said, leaning over the counter with her mouth curled into a smile.

The guard started wheezing.

Virgil was debating whether or not Jason deserved the village physician’s attention for such a stupid reason as ‘not breathing from laughing too much’.

He was weighing the pros and cons of leaving Jason to be the first to die of laughter, when Malia spoke up.

“Speaking of- where's ol’ Roman anyway? I haven't seen him in a while.”

“He's been on a quest with the king. Not due to come back ‘till next week.”

Malia let out a low whistle. “Looks like he got his dream, didn't he?”

“Yeah. He did,” Virgil admitted with a sad smile.

She punched his shoulder lightly. “C'mon, butter up, buttercup. He'll be back and then you two can be attached at the hip again.” As she chuckled, the two boys’ faces fell slightly.

“Malia,” Jason said as a warning.

Her own smile fell and her brows scrunched together. “Wait, what happened?”

“ _ Malia _ -”

“It's fine, Jason,” Virgil stepped in, “It's just that me and Roman have… grown apart slightly. He's always busy and I'm still… well, I'm still a tailor. I mean, I spend a lot of time at the palace since-”  _ Wait. Can I say that I'm friends with the king? Is that treason? _ “Um, I- I kinda- Jason?” He turned to the guard to continue.

“Uh… He has, uh,  _ privileges _ because-”

Malia waved her hand. “It's fine, you don't need to explain. But you and Roman aren't tight knit anymore?”

“ _ No _ ! I mean, yes- I mean, we still are, it's just- Hard.”

“It's fine, Virgil. I get it,” she said with a soft voice, “Here, how about I stuff a few rejects in your bag?” Without an answer from the tailor, she made her way to the kitchen and came out with a tray of assorted desserts.

Upon closer inspection, they were misshapen or severely cracked. Still looked delicious, though.

“I used to eat all these guys but now I don't really like ‘em that much. Guess my tongue's kinda numb now,” she said nonchalantly, wrapping the food into separate pieces of parchment.

“Thanks, Malia.” Jason started pulling out something from his pocket but Virgil slammed down a handful of coins onto the counter before the guard could blink.

“Ha! You're not paying this time!” He grinned wildly at Jason, shoving the sadness aside in exchange for competitiveness.

Malia and Jason only looked at him for a while before snorting and laughing.

“Wow, mood swing,” sing-songed Malia, “Now come onㄧ out, out.” She shooed the boys out of the baker's shop, still giggling.

As the two were walking away, Jason spoke up again. “You alright, Virgil?”

The tailor let out a long sigh and smiled at the sky. “Yeah, Jason. I'm alright. Honest. Thank you for asking.”

_ [This is one of the various planned scenes to show that Jason is an okay guy. The reason why I did this will be in the last notes.] _

 

**End**

Virgil was abruptly woken up from his sleep when he heard the door being thrown open. He tensed up, preparing to fend off raiders or bandits but upon hearing his name being called, he stopped in his tracks.

“Virgil? Virgil! Virgil, where are you?” the voice called.

He slowly walked out of his room to see Jason, wide-eyed and panting. Before Virgil could do anything more, the guard took his face in his hands, inspecting the younger man's eyes.

“Jason?” he asked quizzically, through mushed lips.

The man in question breathed a sigh of relief that was short-lived. “Oh thank god, you're alright.” He dropped his hands. “We have to go, your knight's gone crazy!” Jason was about to take off until Virgil gripped his wrist.

“Wait. Wait… What?”

“There's no time to explain! We have to  _ go now _ !” Jason pleaded. His brows were furrowed, his eyes manic.

“Hold on, hold on, just let me grab my stuff,” Virgil said, rushing back into his room.

He grabbed his cloak and satchel, about to leave, when he paused. Shaking his head before he could overthink it, Virgil stuffed the red sash into his satchel and hastily put on his cloak.

The moment he stepped out, Jason grabbed his arm and ran out of the door, away from the village and into the forest. Virgil's arm stung from being pulled along but he held back from saying anything at Jason's urgency.

They ran through the stream and got soaked up to their mid-calves, making Virgil cringe. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a few other figures running deeper into the forest like them.

He prayed that Roman was among them.

\---

A large crowd was assembled of the people who fled the kingdom: mainly comprised of the palace staff, including the guards, but there were a few people like Virgil, regular civilians who'd fled as well.

Virgil had brought his hood over his head and gripped his satchel tightly. He remained slightly away from the crowd, trying to spot Roman among them.

_ It would be easier if he still wore his- _

He cut off his own train of thought.

His gaze drifted to a group of guards who were currently arguing over what protocol demanded for in the situation. Though Virgil felt as if it wasn’t a real fight, rather it seemed like they were putting on an act for the rest of the crowd.

Occasionally Jason would look in his direction and incline his head slightly,  _ ‘You alright?’ _ , and Virgil would nod once with a small smile, then the guard would turn back to face the bickering group.

Virgil heard rustling behind him. He realised that no one else had noticed and went to check on whatever made the sound. He slowly walked towards it, being careful not to step on dry leaves. As he neared, he could make out voices.

“What do you think happened?”

“I'm not sure… But I know that-  _ that _ isn't him.”

“Are you sure? I mean, he-”

“ _ He. Would. Never. _ ”

A sigh. “Alright, Patton.”

Virgil nearly tripped over a tree root as he realised who they were. He called out to them while pushing aside low hanging branches. “Patton? Logan?”

“Virgil? Is that you?” Patton called back.

“Yeah, I-” he was met face to face with the Royal Advisor.

“Virgil! What are you doing here?” Logan demanded, a hint of concern lacing his voice.

“Ja- There's a lot of people who fled and I… followed them,” Virgil answered, pointing in the direction of where the large crowd was.

“I-,” Logan cut himself off, “In any other case I would have chastised you for doing that but you might be a substantial help right now.” He stalked off in the direction Virgil pointed in without further explanation.

Patton placed a hand on Virgil's shoulder. “I promise we'll explain. Just bring us to the remaining forces.”

_ ‘Remaining forces’? _

Virgil nodded, keeping his questions to himself.

\---

“Roman  _ what _ ?”

He couldn't believe it. There was no possible way that what they were telling him was true. It wasn't- He would never- How-

_ Tell me this is a dream. A nightmare. _

Virgil clutched his arms tightly. His head refused to look up. Carefully, he reached into his satchel and pulled out the red sash. He stared at it as if it would give him the answers he desperately wanted.

_ King-napping? A crown of black roses? Magic? What is going on? _

Patton spoke up. “Virgil, we- I don't understand why or how any of this is happening but what I  _ do  _ know is that we need  _ you. _ ”

At that, his head snapped up. “ _ What _ ?  _ Why _ ? I'm not- I'm just- I'm just a  _ tailor _ ! Not some kind of wizard or knight or- or- I don't know! I'm not someone who can save a- a  _ kingdom _ !”

“We don't need you to save the  _ kingdom _ ,” Logan interrupted, “We need you to save  _ Roman. _ ”

Virgil’s confusion must have shown clearly on his face.

Patton stood, his fists balled up by his sides. “If we can- If  _ you  _ can somehow get a hold on Roman for even a  _ second _ , we could ambush the castle and get His Majesty to safety,” he explained, “And we thought that…” He trailed off, looking at the Royal Advisor to continue.

“We theorise that perhaps Roman has lost his way, and seeing a familiar and  _ significant _ face might ‘snap him out of it’, if we use Patton's wording,” Logan said, standing as well. He paused before adding, “But if it comes to the point where violence is necessary, then… If anyone could stop him from- well, from  _ himself _ , it's you, Virgil.”

“Virgil, we need you to lead us through this. If the  _ real _ Roman is in there, he wouldn't hurt you-  _ couldn't  _ hurt you. You knew Roman best, and we-  _ he _ needs you. We all do,” Patton added.

_ How could I ever  _ lead _ you? I'm not- _

Virgil couldn't bear seeing their serious and hopeful expressions, so he turned away. Catching a part of the castle in his vision, he shifted to face the kingdom completely.

Slowly walking towards the edge of the cliff, Virgil narrowed his eyes and focused on the castle. It was difficult to clearly make out anything at such a distance, but he managed to see movement on one of the balconies.

Virgil shut his eyes tight, bringing his shoulders up and clenching his fists hard enough to leave marks. A moment passed. Another. Then he took a deep breath and stood to his full height.

Turning back to Logan, Patton, and the crowd, he gathered up all his courage.

“We- We have to rise up. Standing down is  _ not  _ an option. I think that we all know that.” He forced himself to keep a steady voice.

Breathing shakily, he scanned the crowd. “I'm not a guard, but I know that those who are take an oath as a promise to protect their people no matter what the cost. So, here is my oath, to say that I will fight with all of you to save our kingdom.

“ _ I, Virgil Moore, swear by the sword _ -”

While walking back towards the campfire, Virgil looked in his hand. The sash.  _ Roman's _ sash. He flung it over his shoulders, wrapping it loosely.

“- _ To protect this kingdom with my very last breath. I vow to do whatever it takes. I vow to sacrifice everything if I must. I vow to lay down my life to protect this kingdom and its people. _ ”

He knew that his oath wasn't a word-for-word replica but he trudged forward. He coughed awkwardly.

“So, if we are going to save this kingdom, I will ask you: Are you ready?” Virgil held out his arm, over the fire.

Patton didn't hesitate, as his arm shot out, matching Virgil’s. “I'm ready!”

Logan looked to the crowd, nodding once. He led a chorus, echoing Patton's words.

Another chorus from the crowd shouted, “We're ready!” The voice leading it sounded familiar.

Virgil looked for the source of the loudest voice and saw Jason holding up his sword, head raised high. Upon meeting eyes, Jason mouthed,  _ I'm ready when you are. _

Nodding one last time, Virgil slowly brought his hand back, and turned to the castle once more.

_ Ready as I'll ever be. _

\---

Virgil sat on a log, tying and untying the laces of his boots, as if how tight they were on his feet would dictate whether or not they won the battle.

He saw Logan and Patton separate themselves from the crowd, talking to each other in confidence.

Logan was running his hands through his hair, a few strands falling out of place. He removed his spectacles, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then placed them back on his face only to repeat the process again.

It was worrying to see the man, who seemed so in control of himself at all times, turn into a nervous wreck. Apparently Patton thought so too.

After exchanging a few words, Logan smiled. Then Patton grabbed onto his arm and pulled him back towards the crowd, causing Logan to nearly trip over his ridiculously long garb.

Virgil tried to hold back a smile seeing the couple’s antics before he turned at the sound of his name being called and saw Jason walking towards him, a horse by his side.

He got up and walked towards Jason to meet him halfway and inclined his head in question.

“Here,” he said, handing Virgil the reins, “His name is Windsor. Managed to nab him from my father’s barn just by the forest’s edge. It’s a wonder they even kept him after so long.”

Virgil hesitated before accepting the reins. “Why are you giving me your horse?”

Jason shrugged. “Figured that our leader should have a steed. Seemed appropriate.”

Virgil snorted. “And what about you?”

“I'll be marching alongside my brothers.”

“That's… very noble of you.”

“What can I say? Being a guard… It changed things,” he said the last part with a softer voice.

Virgil nodded once and extended his hand.

Jason took it, not before badly hiding his shock.

_ How is he still surprised every time I show kindness to him? _

They met each other's serious expressions. After shaking on it, Jason's gaze softened though his brows remained furrowed.

“Virgil, I-” he started.

“Virgil!” The shout came from Patton, who sat by the fire with Logan and another guard- a captain, perhaps?

The tailor - if he could even be called as such anymore - turned back to Jason and gave him a sympathetic look before dropping their joined hands. Virgil made to join Patton and the rest, most probably to discuss their plan of attack.

He had barely walked two steps before Jason grabbed his wrist.

“Wait, Virgil, I- just… Don't die out there, okay?” Jason’s grip was tight, waiting for an answer.

Virgil wanted to say,  _ Aw, now you've ruined my plans. _ However, looking at Jason's expression made him answer honestly.

“I won't. I promise.”

Jason let go of his wrist, a strained smile on his face. He straightened his back and gave Virgil a proper salute.

Virgil couldn't hold back his grin.

“Virgil! We need you, stop fli-” Logan shouted, being cut off by Patton elbowing him in the stomach. The captain huffed out a laugh.

Virgil briskly walked to the campfire, pulling the horse along with him, knowing that that would be the last laugh of the evening.

\---

_ Oh god- _

_ Where's Patton? Where's Logan? Are they safe? _

_ There's so many of them- _

_ Oh fuck, is Jason down? Please, no- _

_ Was that Malia? _

_ I'm going to be sick- _

_ Oh god oh god oh god- _

Virgil was sure he'd get whiplash from looking at what was going on around him. He ran through the people in their zombie-like states, avoiding conflict as best as he could and aiming straight for the castle.

He saw the anguish on the faces of those on his side; the pain of hurting their friends and family. He tore his gaze away from the ongoing battle and pushed Windsor to go faster. The red sash trailed behind him, clinging to his neck.

_ I need to stop this. I need to stop _ him _. _

Virgil looked up to see how much farther he had to go. Focusing on the balcony, his gaze found Roman.

Even from a distance, Virgil could see that his face was twisted into one of glee at the horrifying battle. He also saw that Roman was still wearing that  _ damn crown of roses _ .

_ I'm coming, Roman. _

_ I know you're still in there. _

_ Please be in there. _

_ I'm not giving up on you. _

 

END

  
  


**Extra stuff (in no particular order):**

  * I was planning on hinting heavily at a Jason/Virgil becaaaause-


  * Jason was going to be changed to Remy a.k.a. Sleep (I literally have a whole other copy where Jason's name replaced with Remy, which I was planning on changing once I finished the whole story)


  * Malia made a comeback because a comment early on said that she wouldn't be mentioned ever again and I took that as a challenge (you know who you are) ((i dont hate you btw i just thought it would be funny if i singled you out))


  * I don't think I intended to have Roman/Virgil be a ship, solely because I'm not familiar enough with the fandom to write them the way they're “supposed” to be romantically.


  * This one is pretty obvious but Logan/Patton is romantic. Not sure if that was clear in what I wrote lol


  * Initially, Jason wasn't meant to play _that_ big of a part but then I edited in the part at the end when he helps Virgil and wellll… I sorta got attached to his character and wanted a fleshed out semi-redemption arc.


  * There was never a plan to write anything past the end written.. sorry for that cliffhanger.


  * Can you believe this whole thing was meant to be (at maximum) 10k? Yep that plan went straight out the window.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so so much to all the people who kudos'd, commented, subscribed, and bookmarked. It warms my heart and reading your lovely comments honestly makes my day brighter.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed the little snippets even though I didn't actually finish this.
> 
> Have a great day!


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